


No Strings Attached

by TurnUps



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: A lot of fluff honESTLY, Dancing, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magic, Marionette AU, Pinocchio AU, Puppet AU, Wholesome, a general ghibli vibe, and just, and making daisy chains, idk what to call it lmao, its kind of like a fairytale, minor PTSD, the romance moves steadily, this is just
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29919732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurnUps/pseuds/TurnUps
Summary: At first, he thought it was a marionette in the other window, but as he stepped closer, he saw that it was a puppet too. One that would come up to his chest if they stood on even ground. A boy – well, not a boy, a teenager, like him, Riku supposed. With shoes that looked too large for the rest of him, and a strange shape to his shorts. But it wasn’t the clothes he was looking at. It was the face. A cupid’s bow mouth – smiling – a turned up nose – and bright blue eyes. Riku had never seen eyes so blue.***Riku lives with his Godmother far away from the village. A woodworker and his opens up shop there and he's persuaded to wish upon a star. Instead of his wish, he finds himself having to guide a puppet to becoming a real boy.
Relationships: Riku/Sora (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17
Collections: Soriku Big Bang 2020





	1. Wish

Wish

Fairy Godmothers were shared.

Riku found that out quite shortly after coming to live with his. He had been dropped off for the night in a little cottage in the woods, whilst his Godmother transformed pumpkins into carriages and rags into riches. From then, she was always attending Christenings and gift-giving ceremonies – which Riku was never invited to. It was alright when he was old enough that he didn’t need to be watched by the half-mad wizard and his talking owl. Riku was already used to his own company.

But there was something annoying about being raised by _that_ Fairy Godmother, and not having been present for any of her well-known feats. (He supposed the talking owl was impressive, but more animals could talk than people generally realised.)

Yet, it wasn’t as though he had anyone to disappoint with his lack of stories. They were strictly not to discuss magic with anyone other than wizards and witches. No wands, no pixie dust, no abracadabras. (Fairy Godmothers were Godmothers, first and foremost, and that meant Riku had been raised with magic as an every day occurrence.)

Maybe that was why he stopped outside the shop. Because he sensed that there was – something – there. It was a new one – new to the last time that he had been into town. A woodcarving place, with elaborate bordering around the door and windows, but especially on the little balcony at the top window.

Riku stepped closer, his satchel swinging at his side. The lower windows, the ones of the shop, were piled high. Statues, instruments and clocks were pressed and piled against each other with no room to breathe. Above them were string puppets, dangling in precarious positions.

At first, he thought it was a marionette in the other window, but as he stepped closer, he saw that it was a puppet too. One that would come up to his chest if they stood on even ground. A boy – well, not a _boy,_ a teenager, like him, Riku supposed. With shoes that looked too large for the rest of him, and a strange shape to his shorts. But it wasn’t the clothes he was looking at. It was the face. A cupid’s bow mouth – smiling – a turned up nose – and bright blue eyes. Riku had never seen eyes so _blue_.

They seemed to be smiling too, as though the puppet really was happy to be staring out the window all day, hands on his hips.

It seemed to be more alive, the more he looked at it. He could imagine the chest breathing, the face lighting up and smiling at him. Those _eyes_ seeing him.

His heart was racing. When had that happened?

He shook his head. Lonely – he spent too much time alone and know he getting overly attached to a _puppet_. Godmother would tell him to start making more of an effort in the village. She was close to tracking down frog or swan royalty to make sure that Riku found some kind of friend.

The door to the shop opened, a bell tinkling against the familiar sounds of the blacksmith’s hammer and the marketplace chatter, and Riku jumped. As though he had been caught.

It was a small boy coming out of the shop, with a mop of dark hair and an apple in one hand. He called out to someone inside, not watching where he was going.

Riku didn’t step out of the way in time. The boy crashed into him.

“Sorry,” he managed to say. Stepped back, sharply.

The boy had stumbled, but now he caught himself, bouncing back like a rubber ball.

“That’s alright, Mister,” he chirped. Then turned to the window, and back, smiling ear to ear. “Oh, you’re looking at Sora?”

Riku blinked. “Sora?”

The boy pointed to the puppet. “My father made him.”

“Oh.” He couldn’t think of a single thing to say to this child.

And the boy’s smile widened, as though he was laughing at Riku.

“Father made everything in the shop,” he explained.

Riku didn’t have a lot of experience with talking to children – to people in general, but the little ones were a particular enigma. Some people seemed to have the knack of getting on with them, and becoming best friends in minutes. He fumbled for words.

“That's nice.”

The little boy pointed to himself. “He made me too.”

Again, Riku blinked. It wasn’t _incorrect_ , but it wasn’t the conversation he wanted to have and, again, he was left trying to think of an adequate reply.

This time, however, he was saved by a new voice.

“Pinocchio!” It was a man, calling out as he stepped out of the woodwork shop. Elderly, to have such a young child, with snow white hair and a round, red nose. “You forgot your bag.”

He was carrying a small, leather knapsack that he slipped onto the boy’s shoulders.

“There we go,” he said, and his accent was more obvious now. European – German. He wagged a finger. “Don't go getting lost, now.”

“It was one time.” The little boy, Pinocchio, pouted, then turned to Riku. “I didn’t get lost – I wanted to be an actor.”

His father looked at Riku for the first time from behind rimless glasses, but there was a dazed look in his eye. He frowned down at Pinocchio at the reminder, then shook his head.

“Maybe I should walk with you,” he said.

“No.” Pinocchio shook his head, vigorously, then grabbed Riku’s hand in both of his. They were so _small_ in comparison. “ _He'll_ walk me.”

The woodworker peered at Riku properly now. He felt self-conscious – of his silver hair, the fact that the embroidery on his waistcoat was coming undone, and that one of his boots was peeling away from the sole. He stared back, hoping that he could convey with his eyes that this was not his idea.

“But we don't know him,” the woodworker said.

“We don't know anyone.” Pinocchio swung Riku’s hand, then turned and chatted up to him with abandon. “We got here last week. You'll walk me to school, won't you?”

Riku hesitated. Pinocchio’s eyes were big – puppy-like as they looked up at him. And bright blue. The same bright blue as the marionette in the window’s. There was something about him that was objectively cute. His dark hair contrasted with his pale skin – bringing out the pink in his round cheeks.

And he wanted _Riku_ to walk him.

“I don’t – mind.” He said, surprising himself. “I know the way.”

“Please let him, Father?” Pinocchio kept swinging his hand.

The woodworker was still peering at Riku, his brow furrowed. Even his moustache seemed to twitch, as though it had a life of its own.

“I haven't seen you in town before,” he said.

“No, I live out in the fields.” 

“Do you live in that little cottage?” Pinocchio asked, jumping up and down with Riku’s hand so that he found himself leaning forward. Found himself smiling. “We saw it as the carriage drove us into town.”

“That's right.”

It was a little cottage, with a thatched roof and latticed windows, tucked into the rolling meadows around it. His Fairy Godmother decorated the trellises outside according to the season – wisteria now, for Spring.

“Wow!” Pinocchio stared at Riku, in awe, which only made him feel more awkward.

“Ah.” An unreadable expression came over the woodworker’s face. “I've heard of that cottage. You're –”

“Riku.” He held out his hand.

The man shook it. “Geppetto.”

They both nodded. There was a strange twinkle in the old man’s eyes that made Riku feel as though he was being signalled to, in some way.

“So can Mister Riku walk me?” Pinocchio asked again into the pause.

There was the feeling of having passed a test, as Geppetto smiled at him, then down to Pinocchio. “Very well.”

Pinocchio didn’t move immediately. He looked up at Riku and said, loudly enough that the few people passing by could hear, “He likes Sora.”

Riku’s cheeks warmed. He glanced to the marionette in the window, which seemed to be smiling right at him. “I –”

“Come on, l’ll be late.” Pinocchio was tugging on Riku’s hand, turning him round and heading down the street before he could object. His cloth sack knocked into his legs as he fought to keep pace.

When he glanced back, Geppetto was watching them, rubbing his chin with furrowed brows.

Something was starting. There was something about the woodwork shop. It was like the air before a storm – he knew that these newcomers had brought something with them. Something other than clocks and toys and beautiful marionettes – because the marionette was beautiful. Anyone could see that it was finely carved – that it was _meant_ to be pretty. Yet Riku’s heart thudded at the image of its face.

Yes, _something_ was starting, but it didn’t matter if that was good or bad. He wasn’t to get involved. They were supposed to stay out of things as much as possible. Fairy Godmothers only sent people off on their way, or appeared at the most dire moment.

And Riku wasn’t even a Fairy Godmother, so he shouldn’t be involved at all.

“Do you hate the village?” Pinocchio asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. He was swinging their joined hands, almost skipping as they walked. This child was so happy – he’d never seen such a happy child. It was almost suspicious.

“No.”

“Then why don’t you live here?”

“Because.” Riku found himself smiling, probably at the boy’s pout.

“Is it nicer in the meadows?”

“Yes.” He loved it there. The grass and the wildflowers and the fact that he could take an aimless walk and come across little things in nature – a chalk patch or fallen tree or blackberry bush. There was a magic in discovering things.

“If you lived out there, then did you go to my school?” Pinocchio said.

Riku shook his head. “I learnt at home.”

Well, sometimes at home. Sometimes at the Wizard’s hut – and then it was the owl who did most of the teaching there.

It was like the boy had a sixth sense, because his next question was, “Who taught you?”

Well, he couldn’t say that he learnt letters from a grumpy owl.

“My Godmother,” he said instead.

“What’s a Godmother?”

Riku took a breath. His chest ached, even after all these years.

“A Godmother is someone who looks after you, if your parents can’t.”

“Oh.” Pinocchio hung his head, and the feather on his hat seemed to droop sadly with him. He squeezed Riku’s fingers. “I don’t know who would look after me if anything happened to Father.”

Riku didn’t know what to say to that. He squeezed Pinocchio’s tiny hand, and felt relieved that the school was just around the corner.

“I should be the one asking you all of the questions.” He managed to scrape together, to try and change the subject. Those puppy eyes looked up at him. “Why did you move here?”

Pinocchio smiled. Even his button nose had that rosy glow.

“You wouldn’t believe me,” he said, the twinkle in his eye identical to Geppetto’s.

Riku raised an eyebrow. Try me, he wanted to say, but the school bell was ringing, and Pinocchio was looking at it eagerly. He squeezed Riku’s hand again, giving it an approximate shake as he said, “Thank you very much for walking me, Mister Riku.”

And then he was tugging on the straps of his knapsack and taking off to the small crowd of children going in for lessons.

Riku felt stunned. He stared after the little boy.

And hoped that would be the end of it. That he wouldn’t get involved in anything.

*

Godmother was baking when he got in – kneading pastry together whilst a fresh batch of rhubarb sat on the side. Riku was sure that she only baked so much to keep up the _idea_ of a kindly, elderly woman. She _looked_ the part – plump, round face, white, wavy hair.

But Riku also loved rhubarb, so he wasn’t about to complain.

She glanced round at him when he came in, using his heel to nudge the thick, wooden door closed.

“You're late,” she said. Not cross, more curious. At least she was smiling.

Riku put the satchel down on the table, letting the cheese and wrapped up deer haunch he’d brought flop out.

“I got stuck walking a child to school,” he said. “New in town.”

“How terrible for you.” She was not sympathetic.

Riku flicked the cheese. “He’s very loud. And lively.”

“Truly awful.” Godmother was actually sarcastic now.

“He lives at a wood workers.” Riku pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, slumping forward. He rested his head on his arms. “They got here last week.”

She paused in her baking. “Hm.”

“What?”

“A little boy and a word worker,” Godmother said, slowly and thoughtfully. “We should invite them for tea.”

“Ugh.” Riku turned to see her smiling. “Why?”

“Because it's good to be nice to neighbours.” And yet, there was a twinkle in her eye. “And you could do with a friend.”

“Not one more than half my age.” Riku was not about to admit that he didn’t mind Pinocchio, even if he had no idea what to say to him. He frowned. “I have Arthur.”

“You haven't seen him in years.” Godmother patted his hair, before she went down the shopping.

“We don’t go to Camelot anymore.”

“Someone insisted that they were too big for a babysitter.”

“I was.”

She paused. “You can go to Camelot if you want.”

Arthur was king now. For a little while, that hadn’t made a difference. They had still slipped away from everyone, exploring the castle or playing down by the moat. But then he had started to be followed more and more – started to grow into being a king more and more. No more stories of being turned into a fish or a squirrel.

Riku was where he was before. A little cottage outside of a little village. But he liked it. Liked the routine – bake bread, tend the garden, eat lunch, try a couple of drawings, then wander aimlessly until tea. He had Godmother and that was enough company for him, thank you very much. Why fix what wasn’t broken?

“Hm,” he said. The idea of Camelot again was not a pleasant one.

“We'll invite the new wood worker to tea,” Godmother decided. There was a spark in her dark eyes, a smirk to the corner of her mouth that made Riku click it all together.

“You know him, don’t you?”

“Heard of him from a friend.” Which meant magic. They had some kind of magic. “Run into town and invite them – for tomorrow? Please”

Riku rolled his eyes. But he couldn’t say no – not to her. She had done so much for him – for so many children – purely because she was good and kind. And he didn’t deserve her.

So he went back into town, and relayed the message. After he had stopped, and taken another long look at the marionette in the window.

The next day was full of cleaning the cottage and baking – dinner and another dessert. (Although anyone who did not love his Godmother’s rhubarb pie was a monster, in Riku’s opinion.) But that was fine. It was work with a rhythm, work where he could see that he had made a difference.

It was just a shame that it was all because of socialising.

He heard Pinocchio before he saw him.

“Whillikers – a donkey!” the boy cried.

Riku huffed. Godmother nudged him with her elbow, then opened the door. Pinocchio was there, in the next instant.

“What’s your donkey’s name?” he asked. “Is this your Godmother? Would she look after me too, if anything happens to Father?”

Riku blinked. Godmother laughed.

“That’s Lampwick.” She pointed to where the brown donkey was tied, nibbling at the buttercups. “And I _am_ Riku’s Godmother – you can call me that too, if you like.” She smiled down at him, and Pinocchio smiled up at her, and Riku did _not_ feel a pang of jealousy. He did _not_ wish that he was still small enough to hide behind her skirts.

If he was, he wouldn’t have seen the knowing nod that passed between her and Geppetto.

But then, he wouldn’t be asked to put the kettle on the stove, and lay the food out, and _smile_ , either.

The downstairs of the cottage was one, open room – the kitchen, with its stone stove on one side, the round, wooden table and chairs on the other, and the sofa with its patchwork quilt under the window on the other end. The walls were hung with cross-stitch and a few of Riku’s watercolours. After a month, he always found them to be awfully childish, and replaced them with new ones.

It was roast deer for dinner – the deer that he had brought in town, with golden roast potatoes and buttered green beans with broccoli. They ate, and Godmother had a perfectly normal conversation with Geppetto. She asked him how town was, how the business was, how Pinocchio was doing at school. And he said that town was friendly enough, business was doing well, and Pinocchio seemed to be settling in fine.

Riku watched, and wondered how Godmother would have heard of him. There must be _something_.

“They say that this cottage is full of fairies,” Geppetto said. “That is why the food you grow is so good.”

They sold the fruit and vegetables from the patch in town. That was Riku’s job, on the weekends. And he hated the busy market.

“Oh, is it?” Pinocchio asked Riku. “Do fairies live here?”

“No.”

It wasn’t a lie. _Fairies_ – especially the kind Pinocchio was thinking of, did not live with them – it was just one.

Who shook her head at his blunt tone. “You'll have to forgive him. Riku’s still coming out of a moody phase.”

He felt his cheeks colour. “I am not.”

“It wasn’t that long ago he walked around all the time in a black cape all the time,” she continued.

Riku had. That had been around the time that he had stopped going to Camelot.

“Why would you do that?” Pinocchio asked him, a potato speared on the end of his fork.

“Godmother.” It was half a plead.

But she just raised her hands, as though in despair. “Why indeed?”

He’d never told her why. She’d assumed it was teenage angst. That he was trying to reclaim some of his edge whilst he lived with Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother. It wasn’t that at all, but he couldn’t explain that it was symbolic.

“But a fairy does live here,” Godmother continued, smiling at Pinocchio. It was the special kind of smile she always used with children – that made them feel like they were one of a kind.

Riku paused, staring at her. She was the one who’d always said no one could know what they were. That if people knew, they would be desperate to take advantage of her powers, and magic was not a thing to be used selfishly.

Pinocchio gaped up at her, blue eyes wide.

Geppetto was quicker on the uptake. He smiled too. “A fairy Godmother.”

She nodded. Riku’s heart hammered. She had given them away, so easily –

“I don’t have a Fairy Godmother,” Pinocchio said. And spoke around the potato as he ate, so Riku couldn’t be entirely sure he was hearing what he thought he was hearing. “But I do have the Blue Fairy. She’s very nice too – she made me a real boy.”

Riku stared. His mind had ground to a halt.

“So I hear,” Godmother said.

“It is meant to be a secret.” Geppetto seemed somewhat apologetic.

Godmother laughed, again, as Pinocchio rolled his eyes and said, “But she’s a _fairy_. And I cannot tell a lie.”

“Why can’t you lie?” Riku asked.

“A lie will grow and grow until its as plain as the nose on your face,” Pinocchio said, tapping his. “And real boys are always truthful.”

Riku’s stomach flooded with a familiar warmth. Guilt and shame. He swallowed another mouthful.

“Why weren’t you real before?” he asked, to change the subject.

“I made Pinocchio. He was just a little puppet, for company, but the Blue Fairy gave him life and he had the change to become a real boy.”

“It was hard,” Pinocchio added.

That meant – Sora –

“The marionette in the window –”

“Father made him to keep _me_ company.” Pinocchio pointed to himself, proud. “As my big brother. But he’s not come to life yet. Maybe you could do that, Mister Riku.”

Riku hesitated. Didn’t dare look at Godmother. “But I don’t have magic.”

His nose, at least, did not grow.

Pinocchio shook his head. “All you need is a wish. It’ll come true for you, because you like Sora.”

No he _really_ couldn’t look at Godmother. He was sure that she would be smiling at him. All twinkly eyes that Riku had found a friend- two - a puppet and an eight year old.

His cheeks were burning. He thought of those bright blue eyes - the smile on the cupid's bow mouth.

"I – no, I don’t.”

“You sure were looking at him like you did.”

He had an idea, and leant forward, peering at Pinocchio' face.

"I think your nose is getting bigger.”

“It’s not!” But Pinocchio's hands still went to it. Rubbed it just to check that it was the same size. Then he looked imploring up at Riku. "Please – the first star you see tonight – please wish on it, Mister Riku. Wish for Sora to be alive, like me.”

His voice cracked with the want of it. A friend and older brother. Lonely – the look in his eyes was one of loneliness. And it must have been lonely, to have such a big secret, but not be able to share it with anyone.

Which sounded familiar, now that Riku thought about it.

And if he thought about the marionette, tapped in the shop window by itself, he felt an ache in his chest.

Pinocchio was still staring at him with those huge blue eyes, and Geppetto was trying not to look hopeful – after all, he was the one who’d made it, of course he’d want to see it brought to life like Pinocchio – and of course Godmother would want it. It was a friend, and a very Fairy Godmother-like thing to do.

“I’ll try,” Riku muttered. He stood, collecting the plates because Pinocchio had leapt up in such an eager way that he was scared that he’d be hugged. He retreated to the little kitchen, feeling Godmother’s smile on his back – saw it behind him in the reflection off the window.

He thought he’d escaped, but Pinocchio followed him over – must have seen the alarm on Riku’s face, because instead of wrapping his arms around him, he took his hand again.

“I’m sure you’ll like Sora,” he said.

Riku forced his mouth to twitch upwards. He was trying for a smile, but it felt as though it was more of a grimace.

“Yeah,” was all he could think of to say.

They ate the rhubarb pie and apple crumble and talked – swapping stories of magic that couldn’t be told to anyone else – until Pinocchio’s eyelids began to droop. Geppetto lifted him onto his shoulders, and made his way home.

Godmother used a sprinkle of magic to tidy up – a rare treat. She’d always said it was “Good to put your own hard work into something – it was much more rewarding that way.” He found out why she was so lenient this evening when he was boiling a last cup of tea.

“Have you given it any more thought?”

Riku’s stomach cramped. He watched the kettle, though it was nowhere near done. It was a few weeks ago that this had first come up – that Riku really should be thinking about the future. What he wanted to do with himself, because he couldn’t live with his Fairy Godmother forever.

And now he could guess what she was hinting at. “I don’t think woodworking’s for me.”

“Well, you’re creative.”

“Someone has to stay here and help you.”

Her hand touched his arm, found its way around his shoulders and pressed them together.

“You don’t want to stay here with me, forever,” Godmother said. “And it would help me if I knew you had your own life. If you were happy.”

“I’m happy now.”

She didn’t look like she believed him, though she still smiled and patted him and poured the tea. Maybe he didn’t believe himself either, he thought, as he took it to his room. Because he wasn’t sure he wanted his own life. His life now revolved around _her_ – who she was, what she did and keeping the cottage in order. Keeping everything plodding along like a fairy story, happily ever after.

Without her, he didn’t have a story. Didn’t have anything remarkable about him. Would just be an ordinary young adult. Like anyone else.

If he found his own life, he might become someone who did not believe in magic. Who would chalk his childhood down to a normal Godmother who was very good at telling stories. To make-belief. That couldn’t happen. He couldn’t leave magic behind.

Riku sighed. He left the tea on his bed side table, stepping over to the window instead, and unlatching it. The air was cool, and the world had been transformed into shadows. Turned into something mysterious and magical – the enchanted woods of fables.

Magic – like Godmother’s, like the Blue Fairy’s – was the good kind. Simple and uncomplicated. To delight and nothing else. He loved that – loved seeing the expression on parents’ faces as she gave babies gifts. The moment where items transformed and maidens saw their dreams come true.

It was a gift he didn’t have, but that he could stay close to.

Thinking about the future made him feel panicked. Made his stomach squeeze into several knots, and his cheeks feel hot. Overwhelming – it was completely overwhelming to consider The Future. He pushed the window further open, leaning out to try and catch as much of the cool night air as possible.

As he did, he looked up. It was a new moon, so the sky was completely black, interrupted in scatters by stars. The first star he saw was not the biggest. Was so close to the others around it that he seemed to see five or so first.

He’d told Pinocchio that he would try to bring Sora to life with a wish.

And he did wish, just not for that.

Riku wished that everything would simply stay the same.

*

His wish did not come true.

But it wasn’t completely ruined either. For a week or so, things weren’t that different. Only that he found himself stopping by the woodcarvers more. (if he didn’t, then Pinocchio would inevitably show up at his door. It was easer to go into town, than risk Godmother telling any embarrassing stories.) It ended up that he started to walk Pinocchio to school, then find his way back at the shop, watching Geppetto whittle away.

He asked Riku if he wanted to learn. He replied that he’d only hurt himself he was armed with a knife, and that made the man laugh. But, he added, he was good at painting.

So he found himself adding colour to the intricate inventions. To clocks and instruments and little string puppets.

Sora remained in the window. Still wood. And still, Riku thought, mesmerising. He couldn’t help staring at the marionette. Imagining it as alive as Pinocchio. Smiling at him. Taking his hand and swinging it, the way Pinocchio did. But where Pinocchio did it like a child, there was something different about Sora doing the same. Something that made Riku’s cheeks feel warm and his stomach flutter. Fanciful, he told himself.

After about a week though, the wish was truly broken.

He’d stayed later than usual at Geppetto’s – late enough to walk Pinocchio back from school, and then found himself helping with tea. Found himself staying past dark. Being tugged to the window to make a wish and still not fulfilling his promise.

Which he regretted, when he saw Pinocchio screw his eyes up tight and count to ten. Waiting to see if Sora was now alive or not. Nothing happened, and Riku went home, feeling his chest ache when he saw the disappointment on Geppetto’s face too.

It was just as he left the shop that he heard it. A rapping of knuckles on glass.

Riku stopped. Half-turned and as he did, heard his name called out, “Riku!”

There. In the shop window – illuminated by the light above – he could see a familiar figure. A figure that was, always, stationary. Only now, the marionette was waving. And smiling. The same smile that Riku could always imagine so clearly.

He stepped back towards the shop. Opened the door just as the marionette was hopping down from the window ledge. Those huge shoes made him stumble and Riku instinctively caught the marionette’s arms.

“Sora.” His throat was dry and his voice felt raw.

He’d seen miracles many times. Magic was an everyday occurrence to him. But seeing the marionette come to life made him feel awestruck.

Those blue eyes he’d stared at so many times over the last week were looking back at him. And Sora was smiling.

“Riku, I can move,” Sora said. And Riku couldn’t believe that he’d never imagined how the marionette would sound. He didn’t think he would be able to do it justice. It was a happy voice – a voice like Summer – like the crashing of waves against the shore.

He swallowed. Aware of the wooden arms under his fingers. Aware that he hadn’t let go.

“I can see that,” he managed to say.

“I can talk!”

“I can hear that.”

Sora laughed, and Riku thought of sunny afternoons. His fingers, smooth and cool, found Riku’s arms.

“The Blue Fairy came.” Sora’s voice was softer now. “And she said that it was your wish that I be a real boy.”

That was not Riku’s wish. Not at all. And yet, there was no way he could say that. Not when Sora was grinning up at him with pink cheeks.

“That’s –” He couldn’t find the word. Focused on setting Sora solidly on his own two feet and that was when he realised he small he was. Big, for a marionette, but small for a person. The top of his head came up to Riku’s chest, though his woollen hair stuck up like a star so that he looked taller.

“But I have to be truthful – and brave – and – and –”

“Unselfish!” That was Pinocchio – on the stairs. He must have come down at the sound of voices. Now he stood halfway down, smiling from ear to ear, his own blue eyes sparkling.

“And unselfish,” Sora repeated. He turned, one hand trailing down Riku’s forearm and linking their fingers together as he stepped towards the little boy. “You’re Pinocchio!”

Pinocchio nodded, taking Sora’s other hand. “You’re my big brother! Come and meet father.”

So Sora nodded too – because everything was simple for them, and Pinocchio helped him up the stairs. He stumbled, his legs still getting used to walking. Riku found himself stepping up beside him, other hand on his back to steady him.

“What was all the commotion downstairs, Pinocchio?” Geppetto called to them, as they neared the top.

“Sora’s alive!”

“I’m alive!”

Geppetto glanced towards them, and nodded. “Yes, very good, Sora’s alive.”

Pinocchio shook his head, glancing at Sora. “Give him a moment.”

“Sora’s alive!” Geppetto cried, turning to them. He was laughing. Pinocchio was laughing. Sora was laughing.

Geppetto took both of Sora’s hands, pulling him into the candle light and declaring, “my boy – my boy – alive!”

Riku stayed by the stairs. Watching Pinocchio grab Geppetto’s hand and say “I’m your boy too!”

“You’re both my boys – my beautiful boys!” They were a family, stood there, and Riku was not part of it. “And now – we must celebrate!”

He moved more lithely than Riku had ever seen, winding up the horde of clocks and music boxes around the room. Pinocchio did too, stretching on tip toes to turn the keys, leading Sora around so that he could try it too. Within moments the little apartment over the woodwork shop was full of the sound of cuckoo chimes, of tinny music – fast, slow, happy, sad – all over the top of each other.

Riku thought it unbearable.

But it charmed the three of them – all rosy cheeks and shiny eyes as Geppetto took Pinocchio’s hands and danced. An awkward, odd-looking jig, but Pinocchio seemed to know it. Offered a hand to Sora, and he jumped up and down with them, whilst the tiny wooden figures all around them jerked, dipped and rose.

Riku leant against the doorframe, his chest warm. This was a familiar feeling – the feeling of home, and family, though it was nothing like his quiet evenings with Godmother. And, for a marionette, Sora’s movements were as clumsy as a puppy’s. Maybe he should sneak away, and leave them to it, but he found himself transfixed.

Besides, Sora turned to him. Smiling.

Riku smiled back.

It wasn’t enough, apparently. Sora stepped towards him, hands outstretched.

“Come on,” he said, taking Riku’s hands.

“No.” Riku couldn’t dance. But he still let himself be tugged forward – let Sora pull them both round – twirl himself under Riku’s arm. Still laughing, cheeks glowing and eyes shining. Shoes knocking loudly on the floor.

This wasn’t Riku – wasn’t what he did at all – but he was laughing too.

And he let Sora lead him, until the music boxes and clocks fell silent.


	2. Truthful

Truthful

Marionettes could come to life.

But the village couldn’t know that. It would either end in selling Sora as a commodity show – regardless of what _he_ felt – or they would attack him.

Riku knew, because it had happened to Godmother in the last village. A few children had found out she could do magic tricks, and everyone had kept coming back for more. More wishes. Until the whole town was asking for it.

In the town before, Riku had only been small, but he remembered being lifted out of his bed in the dead of night. Remembered being told to stay quiet, and remembered hearing angry voices as he sat in the back of the wagon, swaddled in blankets.

Sora, of course, didn’t quite understand this. Was so new to life and loved _being_ alive that Geppetto was struggling to keep him safely out of sight. Pinocchio told Riku about his first day going to school – that he was side tracked by a man, followed him to a theatre and was locked up by a puppet master, because he was a puppet who could dance with no strings.

Geppetto didn’t want that to happen to Sora.

That was why Riku found himself driving the cart and Lampwick out of town, with Sora hidden under a tarp in the back. It was a much longer baby-sitting duty than with Pinocchio, but he didn’t mind it.

“Town’s so pretty,” he heard him say, and turned to see Sora’s blue eyes peeking out of the tarp.

“Keep down.” Riku tugged on the tarp, and heard Sora chuckling. He tried to bite back a smile at the sound.

“But it’s like a fairy tale.”

Riku supposed it was. The houses all had timber framing and were painted white, yellow and blue. Almost everyone had flowers in their windows or around their carved doorways. Everything was little paths and twists up or down hills.

Still, it was better to be out in the fields. The further away from people, the more comfortable Riku felt.

Once they were clear, Sora pulled back the tarp without asking. He sat up, falling with the rhythm of the cart and staring at the rolling meadows around him. The spring flowers had dotted the green with purples and yellows, and the trees were back to being full. It _was_ beautiful.

Riku leant back and offered his hand to Sora without thinking. Wooden fingers slipped into his own and Sora clambered over the edge of the cart to sit on the front next to him. He landed heavily, his legs swinging. A metal pin shone in his knee.

“Pinocchio’s right,” Sora said, swinging both his legs. “You don’t say much.”

“I don’t have a lot to say.”

“Why?”

Lampwick snorted, as though he was laughing at Riku. He gave the reins a tug, then shrugged.

Sora was quiet for another moment, looking around them. Their shoulders were pressed together, and Riku felt so soft – so warm – compared to the marionette boy.

“Wouldn’t it be a brave thing to show the village what I am?” he asked, after a moment.

“We’ll find something else that’s brave for you to do.”

“Like what?”

Riku didn’t know. He shrugged again, and saw Sora smiling. Riku wasn’t saying much.

“Wouldn’t it be unselfish to dance for other people?”

“You don’t want to do that.” Riku’s jaw clenched.

“But that’s why it’s unselfish.”

“You’d be a toy to them. They wouldn’t see you as a thing with feelings – you’d just be – a puppet.”

Sora’s legs stilled. Out of the corner of his eye, Riku could see those two blue eyes staring at him.

Sora’s voice was quiet when he asked, “how do you know?”

Riku paused. It was enough to make him second guess, just for a second. But he remembered the people lining up, pushing each other to catch a glimpse of _any_ magic.

“I know what people are like,” he said.

“If they’re that bad, then maybe I don’t want to be a real boy.” Sora was distracted, following a butterfly with a finger tracing the air.

“That’s up to you.”

The butterfly fluttered past them, down to the poppies at the side of the road.

“Wasn’t it your wish?”

Riku didn’t look at him, his stomach heavy and turning itself over. How could he admit to this boy that wasn’t it at all? Especially when he was blinking at him – wanting to become completely real for him.

“Sure,” he lied. “But I can’t control what you do.”

Sora seemed to think about that. Put his head to one side and frowned, twisting his feet one way or another. He clicked his heels together. Then again. Then again. Creating a rhythm to go along with the donkey’s hooves.

Riku felt the urge to push him off the cart.

*

They sat on the hill behind the cottage, which gave them the perfect view of the town. From there, it looked like a child’s toy, or a made-up painting, against the bright blue sky and white clouds.

Sora sat with his legs stretched out, clicking his shoes together at the top every now and then. Just, Riku realised, to make him frown. He was like Pinocchio – he asked questions. Lots of questions.

“Why don’t you live in the town?”

“It’s safer to stay outside.”

“Do you like living out here?”

“Yes.”

“It’s pretty.” Sora leant back on his hands, looking around him. Eyes like the sky, Riku thought. The way he moved – the fact he was entirely smooth, shining wood – was mesmerising.

He picked at the grass to occupy his fingers, because he felt the urge to run them over Sora’s cheek.

“It is,” he said.

“But you must be lonely.”

“I don’t like people.” He picked at the daisies, searching for one that was untouched, that still had all its petals.

Sora was quiet for a moment. Then he pressed his shoulder against Riku’s, like a child wanting to get attention. “Do I count as people?”

“Yes.” Riku didn’t – couldn’t – hesitate. “But you’re different.”

“Because I’m…?” Sora trailed off, fingers trailing up his arm.

“No – not that.” He wasn’t a marionette. He was, but he wasn’t. Riku just knew that it wasn’t the wood that made Sora different. “You don’t annoy me.”

“Why?” He leant closer to Riku.

His eyebrow twitched, and Sora laughed.

“I _do_ annoy you.” He leant back.

Riku could not say that it was his fault that Sora had been brought to life, so he felt responsible for looking after him. He definitely couldn’t say Sora was pretty so it wasn’t so bad. But he also simply couldn’t explain why Sora annoying him made him smile. He didn’t understand it himself.

“It’s your first week of being alive,” he managed instead, plucking more daisies. “You’re allowed to be annoying for that.”

“What about the second week?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

Sora laughed, leaning back again. Heaving his shoulders up and down as though he was sighing.

There was only a moment of silence before he said, “Pinocchio told me you live with your fairy godmother.”

“That’s right.”

“And she grants wishes for people.”

“Not really.” Riku focused on the flowers in his hands. Stringing them along together for something to do. “She gives blessings to children – good fortune, beauty, things like that. Sometimes she’ll step in and – give a helping hand, but that’s only when someone loses hope.”

“She makes everything right again.” Sora’s voice was quiet, almost distant.

“Just a push.” Riku explained about Cinderella, about how the push was a new dress and transport to the ball, and even then, it was only for a certain amount of time. Magic had rules. And it was because Cinderella had worked so hard that she had been granted that.

Sora listened, gasping at all the right points and Riku had to bite his cheek to stop himself from chuckling. It was, really, endearing.

“But what do you do?” He tilted his head to one side, like a puppy. “Whilst your Godmother is giving helping hands?”

“I take care of the garden, and the cottage.” Riku kept threading flowers. Daisies, buttercups and purple anemones.

Sora brought his knees to his chest, resting his cheek on them. He was watching Riku, intently now.

“And that makes you happy?”

It caught him off-guard. The sudden seriousness. The way Sora’s eyebrows came together in concern.

“Yes.”

There was a breeze as he said it, unusually cold. Sora continued staring – examining Riku’s face. He felt his cheeks growing warm under the scrutiny, and hurriedly continued, “I love the cottage, and the garden. I don’t have any magic, so how would I be of any help?”

“You brought me to life.”

Riku kept his eyes on the flowers. The heat was in his neck now. “That was the Blue Fairy.”

“It was your wish.”

“So I should just wish things and hope that she sorts everything out for me?” He broke a stem too far, splitting the flower completely.

Sora hummed a ‘hm,’ before he came to the conclusion of “Maybe not,” and Riku found himself chuckling.

“You don’t have magic?” Sora asked. With that intense stare.

Riku stared back. Made sure that he was looking him in the eye. “No.”

Sora sat up, sat on one leg so they were eye to eye. Riku looked back. Tried not to flinch. They were so close that he realised there was no wood grain to Sora. That he had eyelids – the edge painted black so that his eyes stood out all the more.

The moments passed on.

Then Sora’s gaze dipped down, and he asked, “what are you making?”

Riku looked down, feeling his chest relax.

“Daisy chain,” he replied.

“They’re all daisies?” Sora was reached for it now, running the chain of white, yellow and purple through his fingers. They all seemed to stand out against the brown wood.

“Well, no – but it works with any flower.”

Sora tilted his head to the side. “How?”

“Here –” Riku picked one that sat between them, showing Sora how he split the stem with his nail, then slid another one through the gap. For a moment, he was delighted – but then he looked at his own fingers.

Wood. No nails.

Riku wanted a hole to swallow him up completely. How completely insensitive.

“Maybe – you could use my penknife.” He tried to recover.

Sora turned away, covering his mouth with his hand, but not before Riku saw him smiling. Laughing. At him. And he could only stare, his mind melting into sparks.

“That’s alright.” Sora swung the flower chain from his fingers, and they landed in Riku’s lap. “You’ll just have to make enough for the both of us.”

Riku chuckled. And got to work.

Sora leant back on his hands again, tipping his chin back to watch the clouds. Clicking his toes again, but it didn’t seem so annoying now. Riku thought the conversation was forgotten, that they could continue with a nice, quiet afternoon.

But then came the question, “Why did you lie?”

There were so many little lies he’d told recently that Riku wasn’t sure which one was in question. Admitting that was worse.

“What do you mean?” He tried to sound innocent.

“About having magic.”

His heart stuttered. “What makes you think that?”

Sora’s voice was soft. “You're so insistent. Defensive.”

Riku’s fingers trembled on the flowers in his hands. So much for setting a good example.

“Well, alright.” He took a breath. “Everyone – no matter who – has the magic of wishes, dreams and love.”

It was what Godmother always said, and it wasn’t a lie. But Sora sighed, and shook his head.

“I can see it in your eyes.”

He took Sora’s arm then. Jostled him just enough to get his attention – to make those blue eyes look at him.

“Sora. I'm not lying.”

Sora frowned at him. More of a pout, and it made Riku’s heart stutter.

“So, if I say that –” Sora’s finger waved in the air, as though it was a conductor’s wand and he was trying to figure out a beat. “If I repeat that, my nose won’t grow?”

“I don’t think that's how it works. You’re not a lie detector.”

Sora considered that, and Riku saw an opportunity.

“Say that I had porridge for breakfast,” he said.

Sora did, and they waited a moment. Riku stared determinedly at Sora’s nose, and Sora went cross-eyed trying to watch it.

It didn’t move.

“ _Did_ you?”

Riku shook his head. “Toast.”

Sora stared at him for another moment. Then folded his arms, tilting his chin upwards.

"Then I will tell a lie for every one you tell."

Riku's heart stuttered. "Don't do that."

Sora didn't look at him. "You have magic."

"I _don't."_

"I believe you."

And he didn't believe it when Sora's nose did grow. Straight out. For a moment, they both stared at it, shocked. Pinocchio had _said_ it, but seeing it was altogether different.

Then Riku grabbed his shoulder. Shook him, even though he held firm.

"Sora! I'm telling the truth."

Sora glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Them closed them, and took a breath. "I think you are."

The wood of his nose grew again, so that it was about two foot long.

Riku shook his shoulder. "You're meant to be truthful."

Sora didn't budge. "So are you. Um -" He thought for a moment. "I don’t like Pinocchio."

His nose grew again, and this time tiny branches came from the end. Like a miniature shrub. Riku stared at it, shaking Sora again.

He opened his eyes and gasped at it. He pressed at it gingerly.

Riku's voice softened, though his heart was beating so fast he could feel it in his fingertips. "Don't be silly."

Sora's hand dropped to his lap, and he became stubborn again. "You don't." He paused. "I don't like it here."

Again, it grew, more branches off the sides, sprouting tiny, green buds. They seemed on the verge of opening.

"Please stop!" Riku was desperate.

"I don’t like flowers -"

A bundle of leaves appeared at the end and the wood was so heavy that Sora's chin was tilted downwards.

"Sora!"

"I don't like Riku!"

"Fine!" He snapped. "Fine - I have – I can –" Riku's voice dropped to a whisper. "I can do magic."

Sora didn’t say anything this time. But he didn’t move. If he did, he probably would have knocked Riku over. He closed his eyes, because It was terrifying to see the tiny tree that Sora’s nose had become.

“I – used to stay with a wizard when Godmother was busy. He left one of his books open once, when he was with – when he was busy. And his owl – helped me read it. He could see that I had the gift, and I guess – well, I do. It wasn’t anything much at first. Just a couple of sparks.”

Riku remembered it. Remembered orange sparks coming from his fingertips like a firework. His heart had swelled and he had been amazed. Done it again. And again. Because magic was beautiful. Magic was incredible, and it was his.

“Why didn’t you tell Godmother?” Sora asked, his voice muffled.

Riku smiled, pushed his hair away from his face. “Because we weren’t supposed to read it. And I thought – I thought Godmother would be more impressed if I could do something more than that. So I kept practising.”

Only when Merlin wasn’t around. That added to it. Brought a feverish excitement along with the sparks – or snowflakes – that turned into a candleflame or snow flurry. It had been slow progress at the start. But then Arthur needed more help, and Merlin was away more often, and the magic grew to a flame in the palm of his hand – or a burst of snow. And that swelling feeling only grew and grew.

“It was just a few tricks,” Riku continued. “Magic tricks. And I shouldn’t have thought about it like that. It’s dangerous.”

Sora waited for a moment. His voice was soft when he asked, “What happened?”

“I got – overconfident.” He let his hair fall back into place, and sighed. “Archimedes and I kept trying to do more – bigger and more complicated – and I lost control. I had – fire in my hand.” He held it out, and felt like he could feel the flames there again. It had been like holding a small animal. Warm and eager. “And I tried let it float, but it – went out the window. Caught in some trees. And the houses nearby were too close.”

They had lit as quickly as paper, charring and turning black within moments. Thick smoke filled the air from the trees, made it hard to see, but he could hear screaming.

“I tried to put it out, but whenever I cast blizzard I – it wasn’t strong enough. It just seemed to make things worse.”

Riku had stood there, helpless as people ran out of their houses. Watched their homes and treasured possessions be destroyed.

And it had been his fault.

“Archimedes got Merlin, and he put the fire out easily.”

“But people were hurt.”

Riku took a breath that stabbed his lungs. “Yes.”

That was when he wore the cape. As a symbol of his mistake and regret, even if no one knew. Riku had never admitted to it, but Merlin must have suspected.

There was another pause. He felt wood over his hand. He opened his eyes, to see Sora staring at him, his eyes soft. His nose was nowhere near as long, though it was still not its normal length.

“But it was an accident,” Sora murmured. “It wasn’t –”

“It was.” Riku’s voice was hoarse. “If I hadn’t kept tried doing it by myself – if I hadn’t kept it secret –”

“Why did you? Once you knew more?”

He took another breath. His hands were shaking now – he only realised that when both of Sora’s hands held his. Tightly.

“Because – because if Merlin knew that I had magic, he’d want to take me as an apprentice.” He shook his head. “I didn’t want that. I _don’t_ want that. Now that I’ve seen what it does –” He shook his head again, fingers tightening on Sora’s. “It destroys.”

Sora tilted his head, and it seemed like the sun was behind him. “Only some.”

“The kind I have isn’t the wish-granting kind,” Riku muttered. “And just because I have it – that shouldn’t mean that I have to use it. I want to be able to choose.”

Sora was silent. He turned Riku’s hand over, tracing a finger over his palm.

"What do you want to choose?"

Riku knew his answer.

"I want to stay here." He wanted everything to stay the same.

But Sora wasn't the same. And he wanted to keep seeing him, because he had a bright smile and soft eyes and cradled Riku's hand as though it was something special. That was a change.

"Is that a lie?" Sora's finger traced down his, as though it was following a road.

There it was. That horrible overwhelming panic that seized his gut and made him feel - restless. Made him bite his lip so hard that it hurt.

He didn't reply. Gently pulled his hand away. His fingers found the stem of an crocus instead, and twisted it round.

"What would you choose?" he asked.

"I don’t know,” Sora replied. “There’s so much.”

That was the problem. The thing that made Riku’s gut squirm. There was so much and it all felt so final.

“I know who I would ask,” Sora continued. His fingers tapped the flowers on the chain again, as though he was counting them.

The sickening feeling got worse. “Godmother can’t know.”

“Why not?”

Because he didn’t want her to know that Riku had hurt people. That he’d been responsible for destruction because he had been reckless and cocky. He pulled his knees to his chest, and didn’t answer.

“Wouldn’t she understand?” Sora asked. And when he stayed quiet – because he could not admit that she would – he continued, “She’s meant to help you, isn’t she?”

Riku shrugged. Staring at the town in the distance.

“And if you keep lying to her, then my nose will keep growing. And you don’t want that.” Sora grinned.

Riku scowled. And pushed Sora’s shoulder.

He laughed, catching himself in the grass. The flower chain was spread over his lap. The sun seemed to be behind him, bathed him in gold just as the wind caught his hair.

For a moment, Riku couldn’t catch his breath.

He leant forward, taking the flower chain, aware that Sora had just done the same. Aware that he hadn’t left warmth on the stems. He fiddled with the end of it.

“And how did you get so clever?” he asked.

Sora laughed again. “I guess things are simple when you haven’t been alive long.”

Maybe that was true.

Riku smiled, joining the flower chain together. He held it for a moment.

Then knelt up, not letting himself think as he placed the chain over Sora’s head. It hung around his neck, the purples, reds and yellows bright against his white shirt. He looked down at it, tracing it with his finger, still smiling.

Beautiful.

Blue eyes looked up at him and Riku’s face felt warm. Very warm. He opened his mouth to explain, but couldn’t find the words.

Sora didn’t say anything either. They sat in the meadow with the sun on their faces.

And Sora’s fingers found Riku’s in the grass. Not quite holding. But still touching.

He didn’t pull away.

“I don’t know what I want to do,” Sora murmured. “But, when I’m a real boy, I’ll stay with you.”

That thought made the panic in Riku’s stomach die down.

So he replied, barely hearing the words himself, “I’d like that.”

*

It was easy enough to make the decision to tell Godmother, but actually doing so was a lot harder.

Riku just didn’t know how to start. The only thing that filled his mind was the image of Sora with the flower chain around his neck, grinning. Geppetto must have known he’d been such a beautiful marionette – so what would he look like when he was real?

Would he really stay with Riku, once he wasn’t the only person he could talk to outside his house?

“Riku, that’s the fifth sigh in five minutes.” Godmother was unpicking her stitching.

“Sorry.” Riku tapped the windowsill. The words were in his mouth. He just couldn’t get them further. Once they were out, he had to go through with the whole conversation. He wasn’t sure he could.

She guessed half of what he was thinking about. “How’s Sora?”

He kept his eyes on the window, but that wasn’t helpful. It was dark out, and his reflection stared back at him.

“He – learnt about being truthful.”

“And he had a good teacher.” She pulled at the loose thread and Riku had to smile, despite the lurch in his stomach. Without her wand, she struggled with ‘normal’ things.

“I’m not,” Riku murmured. He saw her reflection put down the stitching, but she didn’t reply. “I’m not a good teacher.”

“What do you mean?”

He had started it. So he had to find the words. Riku told her - in bursts and drips because it was harder to admit it to her than to Sora. With Sora, he'd just been hoping that his nose wouldn't grow anymore - didn't feel such deep rooted shame because he hadn't been lying to him for so long. Didn't have to worry so much about what he would say when he found out.

He didn't look at Godmother. He kept his eyes on the floor.

When he was done, there was a lump in his throat that made it hard to talk. Godmother sat next to him. She stroked his hair, like she used to when he was little, tilting his head down so that it rested against her shoulder, and it made him feel worse. He wished he was little, and didn’t have to worry about anything.

"If only you had told me," she said.

Riku shook his head, just a little. His voice was thick, now. "I don't want to hurt anyone. Not anymore."

She took his face in her hands. Gently turned him so that he had to look into kind dark eyes. She was smiling. She shouldn't be smiling. She should be angry - betrayed by him - disappointed and hurt and not smiling.

"Magic doesn’t have to hurt,” she said, softly. “It can heal too.”

"That's _yours_."

"Your kind too."

And when Riku blinked at her, she shook her head. Smoothed his fringe out of his eyes, smiling, like he had made a silly, simple mistake. He definitely didn’t deserve her.

"Merlin’s magic can cure too. Fire can bring comfort and warmth to those who need it, and blizzard relief to those with a fever. And more. He doesn't use it lightly but I've seen him heal wounds, cure illnesses - all manner of ailments."

Riku wondered how he didn't know that. He felt winded. "Really?"

"Of course." She took his hands, turning them over. It was so similar to what Sora had done, but her hands were warm and worn. "He'll teach you, if that's what you want."

"If?" Riku repeated. "If I have magic, shouldn't I use it?"

"Maybe. But I won't force you into doing something you don't want to." She squeezed his fingers, and he tried to squeeze back, but he felt weak. "You have to choose what you want to do."

Which was just what he'd always wanted. But now that she said it - released the pressure that was always hanging over him, Riku felt - overwhelmed. Choice was so broad. There was so much. Being able to choose - was just as terrifying as being forced into it.

"What if I don't know?" he whispered.

"Then you can change your mind.” Godmother sat back. “Do you think I always wanted to be a fairy godmother?”

“Well – I –”

She shook her head. “I wanted to be normal. Have a little normal life with children of my own.”

“But you grant wishes.”

“I wasn’t sure I wanted to.” She shook her head. “Then, I found that not many people _are_ normal – not when you know everything. And the few that are – wish they were. So…it was better to embrace that. And I ended up getting half of what I wanted.”

Godmother squeezed his hands.

Riku’s chest still felt heavy. He still felt confused – trying to take everything in at once.

“Lots of children,” he said.

“But only one I raised.” Her eyes glistened as she looked at him. “And you know my advice.”

“Follow your heart,” Riku said it automatically. “But what if I don’t know what my heart wants?”

Godmother raised an eyebrow. “Then you’d better start listening.”

She patted his hands. And that seemed to be the end of it.

There was a weight that he’d forgotten he was carrying off his shoulders that left a heavy, satisfied feeling in his chest. But there was also that familiar gnawing feeling in his gut.

The future was a wide, vast thing, and it felt like he was in an ocean without a paddle.


	3. Unselfish

Unselfish

Sora kept making Riku gifts. Little wooden statues - which all looked a lot like fish - or tug along wooden toys. (All looking something like a dog, but it was hard to tell the exact animal.)

Riku put each one on his windowsill, because Sora had been proud of them. Had hidden them behind his back and grinned when he presented them. And he couldn't say no.

But he was running out of room on his windowsill.

And he knew what Sora was up to.

“You know, giving gifts isn't being unselfish,” he said. They sat at the table in the cottage – Riku having just received another wooden toy. It sat by his hand – apparently a panda, though looking like a misshapen rock.

Sora didn’t deny his plan. He blinked at Riku. “It doesn't?”

Riku couldn’t help smiling. There was something cute about his wide eyes and open mouth. “That's just being nice.”

“Well, I want to be nice too.” Sora grinned, and Riku felt warmth burst through his chest. “And _you_ give me gifts.”

He had worn Riku's flower chain until it had wilted and fallen apart, and then mourned it for a further two days. He’d made another.

“That's what friends do.” Riku shrugged.

Sora considered that. He rested his arms on the table, leaning forward. “Are we friends?”

“It’s not like I have a choice.” The Blue Fairy had evidently decided that Riku needed a friend. Although, he couldn’t bring himself to be resentful. It was like being around a ball of sunshine. Sora’s smile and laughs – his constant happiness – made Riku look forward to seeing him.

“Good,” Sora said. His eyes sparkled. But then he frowned. Poked the wooden toy. “Then, what's unselfish?”

“Being unselfish is –” Riku broke off, trying to think of a way to explain it. “Well, it’s…”

“It’s putting aside yourself for someone else,” Godmother said, from where she chopped carrots for the stew.

“Like taking someone where they want to go when you want to stay at home,” Riku said.

Sora leapt up. “Then I'll take you somewhere.”

Riku almost laughed. He shook his head. “But you don’t want to stay home. I do.”

“Should I clean for you? Or do the washing?”

Godmother did laugh then.

“You can’t rush these things.” She turned, knife in hand to wave it at them. “The right thing to do will come to you if you wait.”

“But I don’t _want_ to wait,” Sora cried out.

“You want to be a real boy that badly?” Riku asked.

“Wouldn't you? It's so hard to wood carve with -" He held up his fingers, then turned to Godmother, his eyes wide. "Does that count as brave? I could have chopped my finger off.”

It was exactly the thing he would do, if he was distracted. It was a miracle that his hands weren’t chipped to pieces.

Riku stood. “Maybe you shouldn't wood carve.”

“But it's what Geppetto and Pinocchio do,” Sora said, as though that meant he should do it too. “I like it - I like creating things.”

“There are other things you can do to be creative.” Safer things, Riku added.

“Riku draws.” Godmother turned back to the carrots, unable to hide her smile. “And paints. Very well, if I do say so myself.”

“Godmother!” Riku’s cheeks felt warm.

Sora had hold of his hand in the next moment. Squeezing it between both of his and looking up at him with amazed eyes. “Show me, Riku!”

“No.” Absolutely not.

“That's selfish.” Sora swung their hands.

Godmother was laughing. Riku glared at her back.

“I'm not trying to be a real boy,” he said. Not looking at Sora, because he knew that he would give in if he did.

“Please?” Sora stepped around him. Standing on tip toe and blinking innocently. “I'll do something for you.”

“That wouldn’t be unselfish.” He fought a smile – turning his head away.

Sora followed him. “That wouldn’t be why I want to see.”

He brushed a strand of silver hair from Riku’s face, his expression soft, and it made his breath catch in his throat. They really were too close – way too close considering Godmother was _right there_.

Riku shook his head again – trying to detach their fingers, but Sora clung on. Kept following Riku as he tried to get away from him. He got dizzy quickly and their feet clashed against each other. Sora stumbled and cried out as he started falling headlong.

The next moment, Riku had caught his waist. He pulled him up, and as he did, Sora put a hand on his shoulder. They were practically chest to chest. Sora blinked at him, the corners of his mouth curling upwards.

Riku’s face burned. He was _holding_ Sora. Who wasn’t going to give this up until he got what he wanted.

“Just a few sketches,” he muttered, pulling away.

Sora laughed. He followed him up, wooden shoes clanking on each stair. He added appreciatively around the room, tracing the embroidery on his comforter and peering out of his window.

"You have such a pretty view," he said, leaning on the desk to see better.

Riku glanced out. The town sat in the distance, nestled by the wildflower fields and the summer sky. Woods stretched out to the side – a wall of brown trunks and green leaves.

"It's prettier in the winter," Riku replied. "When it snows."

"I can't wait to see snow." Sora's wooden fingers nudged the glass, his eyes distant. Then he blinked, turning to Riku. "So, is winter your favourite time of year?"

Riku leant against the desk. Choosing to look at the marionette instead of out the window.

"I like winter," he admitted. "Snow is great –”

“Pinocchio told me about making snowmen and snowball fights.”

Well - yeah." He was not about to admit that he had only done those things a couple of times. Mainly when he was little – mainly with Arthur. Godmother had helped him with a snowman a few times, but he’d decided he was too old for it. That they were silly, childish things to do. "But there’s nothing like stepping in the front door when your socks are soaked – and you can’t feel your fingers – and sitting by the fire to dry off. To get warm, when it’s getting dark outside, but it’s not quite time for dinner.” And dinner in the winter was always a stew or a thick soup. “With a cup of hot chocolate and a mince pie - or fruitcake. Winter food is always - it doesn't just fill your stomach, it's like it feels your heart too.”

Riku hadn’t realised that he leant forward. They were either side of the desk chair – and Sora had leant closer to him too. Listening to every word as he continued – remembering it so vividly that he could _see_ it in front of him.

Now it faded away, replaced by Sora looking at him in delight. The afternoon light turned his skin to gold – brought out the pink on his cheeks and lips. Riku stared, feeling the urge to touch him. Cup the swell of Sora’s cheek in his palm.

“That sounds nice,” Sora said. Looking as though he trying to memorise Riku’s face, completely.

Riku blinked. Remembered what they had been talking about. Turned away from Sora to address the fields.

“But my favourite time of year is the Spring,” he continued. “Everything just – starts again. Just like before. The eggs hatch and the fox cubs come out from the den. The plants all need to be pruned and cut back before they grew flowers and fruit again. There’s the most work to do in Spring - and there’s nothing like work after a long winter of doing nothing.”

Work kept his mind off things. It was productive. Useful. Chased away strange sense of dread that hung over the ending of the year.

He hadn’t noticed that his hand was on the desk until he felt Sora’s fingers brush against his own. There was no way that he could glance at him.

“But every year isn’t the same,” Sora said. His little finger pressed against Riku's. "Not really. It's the birds from the year before that are laying eggs and a different number of cubs are born. The cubs are different - they all have their own personality. The plants grow back in a different way. They make new flowers. Everything is new." Riku chanced a glance at him, then, and Sora's eyes twinkled at him. "I'm new."

So new to everything and yet he was so clever. He noticed things, saw things in a different way and that was - amazing.

"You are." Riku looked at their hands on the desk. "It would be a disaster to have a you come to life every year."

"Hey!" Sora pushed Riku's shoulder, frowning. It only made him laugh.

"Because you're right," he said. "You're different."

"So are you." Sora's hand was still on his shoulder, just lightly.

"You don’t know many people to compare me to." It felt mean to say. But he had to - had to make it clear that Riku was - just Riku. And he didn't want to be anything else.

Sora frowned, folding his arms over his chest. His joints clicked.

"I hear people in the shop. And I watch them going by," he said. "And no one's like you."

Riku pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the desk, rolling his eyes.

"No one has white hair?" he asked. It had always been that way - a fascination of the town's when he was little. He supposed that it was a mark of his magic.

"I like your hair." And Sora reached out a hand to touch the strands at Riku's jaw. "It's like snow."

"Hm." He swallowed.

"But no one’s kind on the inside like you," Sora continued, looking at him with an unreadable expression. “You're prickly and grumpy on the outside, but on the inside you care. You enjoy your own company but you're lonely, really.”

“Why does everyone think that?” Riku’s heart pounded at the words. He scowled to hide it.

Sora raised an eyebrow. “Your friends are a puppet and a child.”

“I don’t need friends.”

“You do. You like the company. When you started walking Pinocchio to school you looked happier. Here." Sora tapped Riku’s cheek – just underneath his eye.

That wasn’t fair. Sora was meant to be a marionette when that happened. He wasn’t meant to see. Wasn’t meant to see how he’d started to enjoy Pinocchio jumping up and down at his side.

He wished that Sora wasn’t so observant.

“You saw that,” he muttered. Ducked his head so that his hair covered his face.

“Mm.” Sora nodded. “And I –“

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He peered through his hair in time to see Sora’s nose twitch. Riku leant over and tapped it.

Sora covered it with his hands. He paused for a moment, shuffling.

“You looked at me – a lot –” He said, slowly pulling his hands away. Riku’s cheeks flooded with warmth. He _did_ stare at Sora a lot, but so had a lot of people, he was sure. He was an impressive mannequin when he wasn’t alive. “But your eyes looked so lonely, that I wanted you to have a friend. I wanted – to be that friend.”

Sora looked up. And it seemed to Riku that the paint of his cheeks was pinker than usual. He had noticed Riku. Out of everyone. Was that because he had magic? Would that have made Sora notice him?

Did he want him to?

Maybe. Maybe he had wanted the company of someone like Sora – definitely had wanted to see that smile and that wish came true in tenfold.

He hadn’t realised that he’d trailed into silence, until Sora pushed his shoulder – just lightly. Enough to make him realise that he was staring.

“And I wanted to see your sketches, Riku!” he said.

It made Riku laugh. And maybe he wanted that too – someone to make him laugh, because that had become a rare thing. There wasn’t much to laugh at when you wandered the woods alone.

He thought he liked it.

“Alright.” He hopped off of the desk to open one of the drawers. It wasn’t quite a sketchbook. More a scrap of leather with sheaves of folded paper shoved inside. They stuck out like crooked teeth. “Here.”

Sora all but pounced on it. He put it on the desk, opening it with surprising care. They were mostly of trees – trees and the town. Sometimes squirrels or rabbits – occasionally a hedgehog. In messy pencils or charcoal, but Sora traced his fingers over the lines anyway, as though he was trying to find his way through a maze.

The pages were too thin for him to flip over easily, so Riku took charge of it.

"You could become an artist," Sora said.

Riku looked down at the pages. "No."

"Why not?"

Riku turned it for Sora. Looking at the chalk and charcoal of a cabbage from the garden.

"Artists don't make enough to eat," he said.

Sora chuckled. "I'll make us both enough money."

"Doing what?" He was genuinely curious. Wondered if Sora had dreams yet.

Because Riku didn't. Not really. Just knew that he liked the way things were. Right now. Sora included.

"I'll get good at woodworking." Sora paused, tracing the shape of autumn leaves on one sketch. "When I become a real boy, it'll be easier."

"But is that what you want?"

"What do _you_ want, Riku?" Sora met his gaze.

He fumbled. "I - talked to Godmother - about - magic. She said...that I could learn to heal instead."

"Maybe you'd like that. It's helping people – and you're helping me, already." Sora's face seemed very close to his, and it made Riku feel warm, because he didn't think he was doing much of anything.

"Maybe," he said. But he was sure mistakes would come with that, and that was the bad bit. That he might make things worse.

Sora turned back, though he was still so close. Riku’s arms were practically around him, but he seemed to fit perfectly.

"I don't know what else I'm good at," Sora murmured.

"I'll help you find it." It happened so often around Sora - Riku speaking without thinking.

"Oh, Riku!" Sora turned again, and threw his arms around his neck. They were awkward, only moving at the joints and his body was awkward against Riku's. Not built for hugging.

But maybe Riku wasn't either. His own arms felt awkward as he returned it.

Well, maybe that was something they both weren't good at. But he’d be willing to try and get better.

*

Sora had eaten more strawberries than he had picked.

And Riku was trying to be angry about that. He glanced away as Sora bit into another, turning his head as though he was looking at the woods.

"There'll be none left for jam, if you continue like that." He plucked off another two with a practised hand, dropping them into the basket at his feet.

"Maybe I don't want jam," Sora replied. Stretched and grinned, like a cat in the sun.

"What about tart?" Riku replied. "Or cake with fresh cream and strawberries on top?"

"It depends." Sora picked another, turning it over and peering at it. "Are you the one cooking them?"

Riku wasn't sure if he was created that way, or had picked the teasing up from him. Either way, he let out a sound of outrage.

"I'll have you know-" He stepped around the strawberry patch. "That I am a fine cook."

He started forwards. Sora laughed, and tried to dart out of his way.

Riku's hands caught his waist, lifting him from the dirt path. He may be wood, but he was not heavy. He laughed, only half-attempting to loosen Riku's grip.

"Take it back, strawberry thief." It was the kind of game he'd play with Arthur, before he got serious.

Sora folded his arms. “Never. And I'm no thief.”

“You have strawberry stains on your shorts.”

A pause. Sora’s legs squeaked as he bent them. “They were always red.”

“Nonsense.” Riku shook his head. Laughing, even though he shouldn’t be. Let Sora to his feet, but caught his wrist. “Your fingers too.”

There were pink stains on the end of the brown wood. Sora blinked down at them. His eyes widened. They both realised the problem at the same time.

“Do you think it’ll come off?” he asked, quietly.

Riku didn’t know. He hoped so. Hoped that he was not the one responsible for staining Geppetto’s masterpiece forever. Stained _Sora_ forever.

“My, my, its lovely out here.” It was Godmother, appearing at the back door. She smiled at them, but there was more behind it. Something in the twinkle of her eye that made Riku feel suspicious. “How are things coming along?”

Riku’s cheeks felt warm, for some reason. He realised the puppet, folding his arms instead. Tried to look like he was exasperated, and definitely not having fun.

“Sora has too much of an appetite to be a gardener,” he said.

“That’s not true.” For a moment, he went cross-eyed, trying to check the status of his nose. Riku smiled at the sight, without realising, as Sora continued. “Let me try something else. Something less tastier.”

“The vegetables then.”

“To the vegetables.” Sora took his hand. As though it was nothing. Tugged him away.

He glanced at Godmother over his shoulder. She raised her eyebrows, and he thought he could guess her meaning. Shook his head to show she was wrong.

Sora had a way of bouncing along, past the rows. As though he had springs on his feet. Untroubled, Riku thought, like a child. And he supposed he was. Only worried about becoming a real boy and didn't seem to wonder what came after that.

Didn't seem to look where he was going, either. He tripped on the corner of the low trellis for the green peas. Riku jerked forward - caught his waist and hauled him up. Because wood could snap - and then what?

"Please, be careful," he said.

Sora tilted his head to the side, smiling like he knew something Riku didn't. "But you've always caught me so far."

There was something - something in the warmth of his voice and the glimmer in his eye that made Riku's cheeks warm. He tried to busy himself with the peas, checking they were still growing with the rods.

"What if I'm not around?"

Sora leant down on the other side of the flower bed. Touched one of the tiny pods. "Then I'll find you."

Riku's chest felt tight at that. That someone cared enough to find him. Tried to remind himself that Sora did not know many people, anyway, but -

He forced himself to focus on the garden. To water the plants and stay out of the splash Sora's watering can made when he tried to help. To dead head the flowers, even though he kept glancing across to make sure no wooden fingers found their way to the ground. Sora’s hands were clumsy, and he cut too much of the stems off. To plant the new seeds - carrots in their patch. Riku’s hands got dirty, but Sora was covered soil to his elbow joints. His clothes were covered.

Riku could take a bath, though. He was not sure what would happen if Sora did. He pulled him to the water bucket by the door. Found a rag and started scrubbing at Sora’s arm. Hoped that the dirt wouldn’t get into the grain and stay there. He could not return Gepetto’s masterpiece as a mess.

"Is it true that you enchant the food here?" Sora asked.

"No. We're just good at it," Riku replied. "Selling it fresh helps. It doesn't have far to travel."

"Hm." Sora watched him work, seemingly unbothered. "But today's strawberries tasted better than last time."

"I'm sure they didn't."

“Pinocchio says he’s never tasted food like yours.”

“Well, he exaggerates.” The boy was excited about everything.

Sora shook his head. Let Riku take his other hand and try splicing it down. “His nose didn't grow at all. I'm sure there’s _magic_ involved.”

It didn’t look as though Sora would give that up, so he relented, “maybe.”

Maybe there was magic involved. But he knew it wasn’t Godmother. Knew that magic could sometimes be used subconsciously. Shuffled at the thought that it was _him_. It took what he loved about the garden – about this life – and tangled it up in what he didn’t want.

He still had not decided whether to go to Merlin or not.

“Riku?”

Sora’s voice saved him from his thoughts. He glanced up to those bright blue eyes.

“Mm?”

You have -" Sora gently teased the rag from his fingers. Rubbed it against Riku’s cheek. It was cold, but he couldn’t bring himself to flinch away when they were sat this close to each other.

“Oh,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

Sora smiled, softly. Gave the rag back, and examined the dirt on him. Looked at the butchered plants around them, the puddles from his watering, and the overturned earth of his planting.

“I don’t think I’m a gardener.”

Riku agreed. And found himself chuckling at Sora’s attempt. The marionette laughed too. Leaning back. He knocked over the water pail as he did, creating a flood over the dirt pathways. Riku tugged him out of harm’s way, but it only made him laugh more.

Why had he expected this to be simple and easy? And why didn’t he mind that it wasn’t?

*

They tried baking. Sora curdled his eggs, ended up covered in flour, and nearly set himself on fire putting his cake into the oven. It did not taste awful, but he had noticed Godmother twitch her wand once or twice.

So they tried fishing, but neither were patient enough for it. Sora started telling Riku Pinnocchio’s stories, gesturing wildly, and nearly capsized them both. They turned to painting and milling with similar disastrous results.

After nearly being thrown from the carriage, due to Sora’s enthusiastic driving, Riku was starting to feel as though they’d never find what he wanted to do, that didn’t endanger himself or anyone else.

They supped at Gepetto’s at his insistence, since he had made too much soup for the three of them. It was sweet potato, combined with a mixture of herbs to give it a burst of flavour. Pinocchio and Sora talked quickly, exchanging misadventures (Pinocchio’s school life seemed much more exciting than Riku’s homeschooling), or musing over strange questions. Why were ladybird’s spotted? Why were foxes sneaks? Who arranged the alphabet?

Riku was content to watch them giggling and smiling. It was like having a little brother in Pinocchio, but Sora –

His bubbly laugh and wide grin made his heart beat just as forcefully as when he had remained lifeless. More so, now that he knew he really was like sunshine.

And Riku’s life had certainly been grey before now. He just hadn’t realised how long the storm clouds had been there.

He spoke amiably with Geppetto, about Godmother and her health. (Fit as a fiddle, like always), and explained it was no trouble at all for keeping Sora occupied. Ventured as far to admit he enjoyed the company. There were not many people his age in the village, and none that were keen to associate with the boy who’s garden was enchanted.

Pinocchio offered to show them what he had learnt on his panpipes as desert was brought out. A simple, jaunty tune, but he played it well. The second time he looped it, Sora stood, and began to dance. It was more of a jig, tapping his feet as an accompaniment.

But for someone who was usually so clumsy, he was _good._ Graceful. Riku was - entranced as he circled Pinocchio, adding turns to the jig at the third time round of the tune.

Geppetto clapped and congratulated them.

Sora caught Riku’s gaze. Stared back at him. And maybe it was only the lighting, but his cheeks seemed flushed. There was an extra sparkle in his eye.

“You’re – good.” It was hard to force his words out.

“It’d be great if you could sing as well,” Pinocchio exclaimed. “Here, I know something!”

It was also a simple enough song. He went through the steps with Sora, and even though it was getting late, Riku could not find it in himself to go home. He stayed, watching the two dance, and listening to Sora’s bright voice sing about how he had no strings.

He didn’t seem to be held down by anything, that much was true. And he looked – at home – as he performed. More comfortable with his body. A joyful look on his face.

After all, Riku supposed, this was what a marionette was made for.

“We’re good, right?” Pinocchio asked Riku eagerly, not a moment after they had bowed. “Aren’t we good, Riku?”

He tried to smile, but he felt dazed. “Very.”

“That was what I sung for the man who tried to lock me in a cage to perform forever.”

“Oh.” He glanced at Geppetto, to see if this was true, but he was taking the dishes to the kitchen.

Sora sat, looking out of breath. But grinning. “If you say that I’m good Riku, then that means we’ve found it.”

“Found what?”

“What I’m good at!” He was practically glowing with excitement. “ _And_ this is what I want to do – I’m sure of it.”

“I know.” And Riku tried to sound soft, and understanding, but his mind was full of panic. “But it’s dangerous – look what happened to Pinocchio.”

Pinocchio sat too. Swung his legs and helped himself to the bread and butter pudding. “Mr Stromboli didn’t believe that I could feel anything – he would have made me dance every day and then – when I couldn’t – he said he would –”

Pinocchio’s lip trembled. He looked at Sora with wide, fearful eyes.

Riku could guess at the fate a broken wooden puppet would have, and knew that it would still be a terrifying thought even to a real boy. He patted Pinocchio’s shoulder in an attempt to show his sympathy.

Pinocchio took his hand in both his small ones, and swung it between them, frowning down at the table. He squeezed their fingers together, and wished that he knew the right thing to say.

“It’s probably safer for the not-alive puppets to perform,” he said.

Sora sighed, eyebrows knitting together. But then he met Pinocchio’s eye. And they both began to smile.

“Unless they thought I _was_ just a puppet,” Sora said.

Pinocchio jumped up – still had hold of Riku’s hand, so he was jerked too. “We can tie strings to him and I can pretend to be the one controlling him!”

“Yes!”

Riku wasn’t sure. Still thought that it would be dangerous. It would only take one slip.

Sora saw his hesitation. Reached over and took his other hand, pulling him to his feet.

“We’ll practice,” he said. “And we’ll be careful. But we have to try, Riku.”

They had to try because it made Sora so happy. It was what he _wanted_ to do. And if Riku knew what that was for him, then he would take risks too.

“I know,” was all that he could say.

“Will you come and see our first performance?” Pinocchio had Sora’s other hand, joining them in a circle, and that made Riku’s chest feel tight.

“Of course.” He caught Sora’s eye. Wanted to wink but did not have the confidence. “I’ll bring flowers.”

Sora beamed at him, cheeks seemingly rosier than ever. He was the one who walked Riku to the door, whilst Geppetto attempted to put an excited Pinocchio to bed. Somehow, he’d gotten hold of Riku’s hand again, and swung it as they walked. He didn’t mind that. Wondered how it would feel if that hand was warm, and soft.

“Thank you,” Sora murmured, as he unlocked the shop door. The moonlight made him a creature of silver and black, and that was just as mesmerizing.

“The two of you came up with the idea.”

Sora shook his head, shadows dancing across the wood of his face. “You helped me figure out what I wanted.”

Riku had only risked breaking Sora. “You already wanted to perform.”

“I suspected.” Sora leant closer, peering at up at him, as though he was a constellation, or a meteor. Something – fascinating. “But now I know. And I know – something else.”

His fingers hovered over Riku’s cheek. He could feel the very edge of the wood against his cheek bone. Just brushing his hair out of the way.

His own hand was hovering over Sora’s waist – when had that happened? When had his heart began to race?

“What else?” he whispered. Felt trapped in that gaze, because Sora had always looked at him fondly, but now –

He smiled. Ghosted his fingers down Riku’s cheek, just brushing the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

“That’s my secret. For now.” His hand hovered over Riku’s chest a moment more, before he stepped away. Glanced back towards the stairs to show that he needed to get going.

Riku struggled to breathe. Felt his cheeks burn. Managed to mumble a goodnight – get himself to the door and back to where Lampwick was waiting to take him home.

His mind felt as though it was full of sparks as he rode the donkey. Knew that his own life would have been so different without Sora.

No. It would have been exactly the same. And he was, actually, glad that it had changed. Glad that he did not only admire a marionette in a shop anymore. Glad that he had – a friend. Someone like him.

Someone he liked. And who seemed to like him.

*

He was happy. Happy with this new normal, until it was ruined, two days later, when he came in from the garden to find _him_ sat in their cottage.

Merlin had not changed in the few years since Riku last saw him. Still tall, thin and sporting a tremendously long beard. Still wearing the same dark blue robe. He had a cup of tea, and was chatting amicably to Godmother, though they both fell silent as he stepped through the door.

“We were just waiting for you, dear.”

He was not one to forget his manners, so Riku said, "Hello," but it sounded unsure, even to his own ears.

"Riku, my boy." Merlin slapped his knee as he stood. Held out a hand that he shook with a certain wariness. "I was happy to let you avoid me, until a little bird told me that you'd be interested in studying healing."

He turned sharply to Godmother, but she shook her head.

"A rather - enthusiastic bird," Merlin added, and the way that he raised his eyebrows made it click into place for Riku.

He was not sure whether to laugh or cry. Could only wonder at the conversation, and hoped that Sora had left out the details of Riku's admission.

"But - why would he -?" he stammered.

"It seems." Godmother put a hand on Merlin's elbow, to encourage him back onto the sofa. Nodded at the armchair - which Riku fell into heavily, mind whirling. "That Sora felt guilty you spent so much time helping him find what _he_ wanted to do, that he wanted to help you find your way as well."

Of course he did. Because Sora wanted to be a real boy and yet never thought of himself. Always worried about Riku's lies, about Riku doing what any good friend would do, because it was -

"Unselfish," he muttered. "That was very - unselfish of him."

Godmother's eyes twinkled at him.

"Yes, well." Merlin looked lost. "This is just a hop, skip and a jump away from Camelot, really, so it would be no hassle to tutor you once or twice a week - providing Arthur does not break anything in my absence."

"I don't -" Riku' elation broke to that familiar knot in the bottom of his stomach. "I'm still not sure that I want to study magic. Of any kind."

He received a stare from over small, round glasses. An analytical, yet, sympathetic stare.

"It scares you," he concluded.

"Did – didn’t Sora – or Godmother – explain?" It was bad enough admitting to it twice, he did not think that he could bear doing so again.

Merlin smiled, just slightly. "I always suspected who started the fire. And always knew it was an accident. Curiosity killed the cat."

Riku's could have done so. Literally. He opened his mouth to say so.

"But satisfaction brought it back," Merlin finished. "You see, it is because you are reluctant, that you are the right fit for a healer. You understand the dangers of magic, the responsibility of wielding it. That means you care.”

Riku did care. And that was why he found himself warming to the idea of healing. He supposed that being so aware of the consequences of magic would help.

“But –” He frowned. “You knew?”

“Suspected.” Merlin held up a finger to show the difference. “Someone had been at the spell books. I rather hoped to train you, but I was so busy with the once and future king, that I must have forgotten to bring it up.”

Forgotten. As though it was something small, like Riku leaving his bag behind. He mulled the proposition over. Knew that he would be in good hands, that what happened once would not happen again, if he was taught properly. Images of healing wounds crossed his mind, and he didn’t think that would be an unpleasant future.

But where would it leave Godmother? Where would it leave the cottage and the garden? And Sora?

Sora – who had done this secretly. Because he wanted Riku to find what he wanted to do. What he was good at. When he thought of that – of Sora explaining to Merlin, sneaking around, grinning at the thought that he was being of help, he didn’t think he could refuse.

“Alright,” Riku said. “I'll try. I can't promise –”

“Trying is more than enough.” Merlin nodded. Held out his hand again, and Riku shook it. More confidently this time. “I look forward to teaching you.”

Riku nodded too. Forced himself to smile. “I look forward to learning.”

And hoped that this wouldn’t end in disaster.


	4. Brave

Brave

“Merlin noticed something interesting whilst he was here.” Godmother kept stirring the porridge, whilst Riku nursed a cup of tea, and tried to wake himself up. “He noticed an enchantment on the garden.”

Riku looked up at her. “But you never put an enchantment there.”

“I know.” She took it off the heat. Ladled some into a bowl, and gave him a pointed look. “ _I_ didn’t.”

“ _I_ wouldn’t know how,” he replied.

Godmother sat opposite him. Took a spoonful. “Many people who are untrained in magic use it without realising. Particularly if they are feeling a strong emotion.”

Riku thought of Sora. Of him insisting that the strawberries tasted better the last time around. Since he had arrived. His cheeks grew warm.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he muttered.

Godmother chuckled, and said no more. After all, her point had been made.

Riku _had_ been using magic. Perhaps all this time. At least, it seemed, for the last few months. Which seemed to mean that he could not escape it. This time, at least, he did not feel so trapped.

He travelled to Camelot that afternoon. Met Arthur again, and it struck him that he was a serious sort now. Looked at Riku vaguely, as though he was thinking of five other things at the same time. He could not see the boy he used to laugh with.

But then, up until recently, Riku had not smiled very much either.

They did not stay long before retreating to Merlin’s small house. It seemed unchanged, even with the passing years. Still a mess. But still homey. Still with Archimedes sleeping in one corner. He opened one eye as Riku came in, then ‘hmped’ lightly, settling better on his branch. So much for his first teacher.

His hands shook with nervous energy. Mouth was dry as he looked at the spell book. It would be so simple for it all to go wrong.

Merlin sat opposite. Flicked through it. Riku glimpsed the spell he'd used to make a flame. Make snowflakes. Make a tiny lightning bolt shoot from his finger.

"We won't be casting anything today," Merlin said. "Merely - reading through and understanding."

That eased the knot in the base of his stomach. He nodded.

"And, of course, we will start with the basics."

He nodded again. Clenched his fists to stop the shaking. It was worth a try. Sora had tried everything that he had asked him, even when he was not good at it. The least Riku could do was try this again.

Merlin began the magic lesson.

*

Riku had fallen into the habit of stopping by the woodwork shop after the market. Of being invited upstairs for tea and cake. Geppetto was normally busy, which left Riku in charge of watching Pinocchio. Or – watching Sora watch Pinocchio, since he was not so sensible, either.

But he enjoyed it. Enjoyed seeing Pinocchio in the morning and walking him to school. Of seeing Sora in an upstairs window and shooing him out of sight – even though he was grinning back at him. It didn’t feel like a chore.

It was nice. Good. Better, he supposed, than how things used to be.

Both of them were excited for their show. They seemed to be training constantly, but insisted on keeping it a secret from Riku. They paused for a break, when he arrived, and he herded them to sit at the table. They were still talking excitedly about that.

"Performing in front of people is brave," Pinocchio said. "Don't you think, Riku?"

He smiled. Wondered if that had been the motive all along, for just a moment. But, no – Sora genuinely enjoyed it.

"Yes," he said. Glanced at Sora. "It is."

Sora smiled back. He tapped his fingers on the table, as though he was thinking of something else.

"Wouldn't that be a great finale?" Pinocchio gave a small hop. "If Sora turned into a real boy? Then no one would know he was ever a puppet!"

"And _you_ -" Sora pressed his finger against Riku's shoulder. "Can't tell us it's dangerous then."

No. So why was Riku still smiling? "I can't."

"I think -" Sora paused. Flipped Riku's hand over and traced the line of his palm. His were different - just part of the wood grain. Another thing to look forward to when he was a real boy. "That going back to something that scares you is brave."

There was still a painful knot in his stomach when thought of Camelot.

“We're not doing much right now,” he admitted.

Sora tilted his head to the side. His hair was ruffled, falling into his eyes. Not so perfect, but that wasn’t a bad thing. It made him look more – real. Riku tried to imagine him that way. Light brown skin instead of wood, dark eyelashes – would his face be similar to Pinocchio’s? 

“What do you mean?” The boy tugged at Riku’s sleeve, and he tried to return to the conversation. But his train of thought was completely lost.

“Riku’s going to be a healer,” Sora said. Smiled, and he had to look away before he was distracted again.

Yes. That. “Maybe.”

“Wow!” Pinocchio’s eyes widened to the size of teacups. “That's amazing, Riku.”

“Maybe,” he repeated. Because even though the idea of it was not so awful, anymore, there was more to it. He pulled his hand away from Sora’s. Held it in his lap. “It could mean - moving away.”

“Oh.” Pinocchio let go off his sleeve, and picked at a loose thread on his own. “You’d have to leave your Fairy Godmother.”

“Yes.”

“And the cottage.”

“Yes.”

“And Lampwick.” Pinocchio looked up at him, face full of worry.

Riku felt a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Lampwick might come with me.”

Pinocchio seemed relieved at that. But then his face fell once more. “And us.”

It would. And the thought of that made Riku’s heart ache. He couldn’t imagine not seeing them both smiling at him every day. There would be no more carriage rides, or warm dinners, or evenings spent by the hearth. No more teasing Sora and watching him get more wound up. No more Sora seeming to do his best to wind Riku up with his complete disregard for personal space.

“But I don’t need to think about that yet.” Riku tried to smile, but his mouth felt stiff. Like it used to, before they lived here. He fought to change the subject. “When will your show be ready?”

“Soon,” Pinocchio said. “We can show you _some_ of it. As a special treat.”

“No.” Riku’s attention was on Sora again. “I’ll wait until the grand opening.”

Sora ducked his head. And Riku wondered, if he was a real boy, if he would be blushing.

Performing _was_ brave. Which was the last thing that Sora needed to be – though he insisted to Riku that he had not been unselfish at all. That would mean – Riku’s heart fluttered at the thought –

Their first show could not come soon enough.

*

Just when RIku had settled, everything changed again. He suddenly spent more time at Camelot, more time studying and accompanying Merlin to patients. More time practising spells, concentrating on getting them perfect. Until his hands had stopped shaking so much. Until he felt confident that he would not set off an explosion when he was trying to heal a papercut.

It left him with a sense of pride – of accomplishment – and he was starting to think that he would enjoy this. Enjoy helping people and making a difference. But it also left him with pressing headaches. Left him exhausted and so relieved that he could not do anything else.

Godmother told him that she was proud of him, and that kept him going. Made him feel like this was the right thing. And yet –

There was much less time to see Sora and Pinocchio. There was less laughing and dancing with Merlin. He could feel himself becoming serious – becoming like Arthur. Like how he used to be.

He missed his friends. Missed his garden. Missed sitting with Godmother in the evenings. Would miss all of that so much more if he did leave.

Which left him simply confused.

The day of the show came around. On a warm, midsummer day that Riku insisted to have away from Camelot. He told Merlin that it was a special occasion.

Gepetto had built Sora and Pinocchio a stage, and must have spent the early hours of the morning putting it together. Or, judging by Godmother’s presence, he had a little help.

Riku slipped behind the curtains to find the two playing a clapping game with their hands, jittery with excitement. Sora did have strings tied to him – the handle lying a little way away. It made him look –

Like a puppet.

It was, of course, the point. But he was so full of life that it was unsettling. Made him look like a toy, when he wasn’t.

“Riku!” Pinocchio got to him first, hugging his waist. He’d dressed up like a circus ringmaster and tidied his hair back. The effect, Riku had to admit, was cute.

“Hello.” He knelt to pat his shoulder, and accepted Sora’s hand up. He was smiling. They’d painted his cheeks over to make the pink stand out – make him look fake. “I came to say good luck.”

Sora kept hold of Riku’s hand. “Thank you.”

They hadn’t seen each other for a while. And maybe that was why there was something in the air. Something different about the way Sora was looking at him. A glimmer in his eye and a smile at the edges of his lips.

Riku’s heart was racing. It wasn’t because Sora was an impressive marionette. It was because he had missed him – so much. Missed _being_ with him.

Pinocchio pushed at his leg without warning, so that he stumbled forward a step.

“Sora’s really glad you’re here,” he said, giving the marionette a pointed look.

“Because Riku is my friend.” Sora spoke just as pointedly.

“He’s missed you a _lot_.” Pinocchio nudged Riku’s leg again. They were close now. Almost chest to chest, and Riku's cheeks felt very warm.

"I've missed Sora too." He held Sora's hand with both of his. Squeezed it. "Very much."

"How is -" Sora looked at their joint hands. "How is your magic going?"

"Alright." It was. Riku had successfully casted a few minor spells. Cured a few flus, sealed a few cuts. Every time had made him feel like he was floating. Like he was making a difference. "But I still miss my garden."

"The strawberries haven't tasted as good lately."

"They won't have been enchanted." He said it without thinking, not remembering that he hadn't told anyone that secret - and Sora's shoes flunked on the ground when he gave a small hop.

"So they were magic!"

"Only a little."

"I told you." Sora pushed Riku's chest, playfully, but his hand stayed there. Looking up at him.

The thought came to Riku that he could tilt his head down, and kiss him. It wouldn't take much. He hadn't thought about kissing Sora before, but now that he had -

He thought he wanted to. Would like to. Because if being this close made him feel like there was a fireworks display inside of him, then kissing would be even better. Would be like magic.

Geppetto stuck his head around the side of the stage, “are you two ready? There’s a crowd gathering.”

“Fa- _ther_!” Pinocchio cried.

Riku had forgotten that he was there. Stepped back, and remembered the world around him.

“Well –” he said. “Good luck.”

“You too,” Sora replied. Blinked when he realised what he said.

Riku laughed, patted Pinocchio’s shoulder again, then stepped back to the audience with Geppetto. He’d been right, there was a small crowd gathered curiously around the stage. He felt as nervous as if he were performing himself.

Geppetto must have been backstage, winding up the music for them. Pinocchio appeared in the window at the top, welcoming everyone with a clear voice. Said he'd tried acting, but it wasn't for him, so he made someone else to do the performing instead. That made the crowd chuckle.

The curtains opened.

Sora was there. Onstage. And he began dancing as Pinocchio sung. It was good - he saw the people around him smiling or nodding their heads to the tune. And he knew that it was Sora in charge.

But there was something about seeing him with strings that was unsettling.

Riku tried to smile, though, in case Sora saw him. Tried to look supportive. Counted down the seconds until the song finished.

Everyone clapped. Quite a few of them tossed coins onstage. A lot remarked on Pinocchio's skill for someone so young.

Sora remained a marionette.

Riku's heart sunk more than he thought it would. He wanted a word with the Blue Fairy. To ask just what she thought was brave.

To ask why she had granted him he opposite of his wish.

At least Sora did not seem disappointed. Quite the opposite. That evening, after a successful afternoon of performances, he all but had wings. The three woodworkers wound up the toys and boxes again, laughing and -

Dancing. Of course Sora caught Riku's hands. Riku spun him under an arm, feeling just as dazzled as the first time. Just as fascinated by their joined hands, Sora's grin, as he ever had.

Maybe that was why he kissed Sora's knuckles when the cacophony of sounds stopped, and they were left fighting for breath.

Sora looked stunned. The candlelight created sparks in his eyes. It was that look which stuck in Riku's mind as he rode Lampwick home.

And maybe it showed on his face, because when he stepped inside, Godmother looked up from her daring and raised her eyebrows.

"You're in an awfully good mood."

Riku's cheeks felt hot. He tried to give a nonchalant smile and shrug. "The show went well."

"Mm." She looked to the clock, raising her eyebrows, though not in a stern way. "What a late show."

"Well - I –” Riku put his bag by the door. Slipped out of his jacket and hung it on the hook. “I stayed for tea. They had a celebration.”

“I see.”

Godmother smiled, still with those raised eyebrows. It was as though she knew something that he didn’t.

“What?” he asked, heading to warm himself by the fire.

“You're very fond of Sora.”

“He’s my friend.” He sounded defensive.

And he knew why at the probe in Godmother’s voice when she asked, “is that all?”

He thought of Sora staring at him. The two of them standing inches away from each other. The eager way Pinocchio explained how much Sora had _missed_ Riku.

“I care about him, if that's what you mean.” It was as much to himself as it was to Godmother.

She hummed in agreement, and left it a moment. He glanced across to see her continue her darning.

“My dear,” she said, still working. “You know in Spring, animals become twitterpatered? Birds and squirrels and the like? You've watched it happen many times.”

Squirrels chasing each other through the woods and pigeons scuffling in trees. Riku had been convinced that he was saving two butterflies once, since they weren’t flying, and had been embarrassingly mistaken.

“Yes,” he said, stomach turning as he realised where she was going.

“So, you can’t recognise that now?”

She had a sweet smile, but –

“I'm not - that's not –” No. He could only stammer. Only think of Sora’s face close to his. “You've got it wrong.”

“I'm sure I have.” But Godmother did not sound as though she believed him.

“Yes.” Again, it seemed more to himself. “I'm not – it’s not like that.”

“Alright.” But still with raised eyebrows. That glimmer in her eye that suggested otherwise.

“He’s a _friend_ ,” Riku managed.

“Yes.”

It couldn’t work – he couldn’t even think of it. Not when he might be leaving and Sora wasn’t – real. He felt awful thinking it, but today had reminded him of that. Sora was a marionette.

And neither of them were squirrels or pigeons.

*

"My assistant, Riku, will deal with this one."

Riku stared at Merlin, heart thudding. No, he wanted to say. No, he could not. This girl was very sick, and he was not good enough with magic for this.

But Merlin put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a firm nod. He looked back at the girl, her blonde hair spread out in a halo around her, face flushed from fever.

He had to.

He knew how. Had been studying for this. So, he concentrated, closed his eyes, and thought about the spell. Was careful of his words, his hands – was trembling. But he could do it.

There were gasps from the girls’ parents. He knew there would be a soft, pale green light of healing coming from his hands. That would distract him.

Riku only opened his eyes once he knew, without a doubt, he was done.

The girl was asleep. But her breathing was no longer laboured, and her cheeks were pink instead of crimson. Even as they stood there, the colour faded to peach.

One of her parents put their hand on her forehead. “Her fever’s gone.”

Riku’s heart pounded. He felt as though he was the one burning up, instead.

“Yes.” Merlin peered at her from over his spectacles. “A tip-top job, I would say.”

Riku was hugged. His hands shaken. Thanked over and over for helping her. They didn’t have much money, but would this do?

He couldn’t reply from the shock. Merlin curled the few coins back into their palms, telling them to keep hold of them.

They were back on the street, heading home, and Riku didn’t really know how he had gotten there.

“I did it,” he murmured.

“You did,” Merlin replied. “Now – the trick is – to do it again.”

Riku did. Handled their whole set of house calls. Because he could do it. And it helped. He got children to stop crying, and smile instead. Saw pain disappear and waited for it to feel _right_. Like this was what he was meant to do.

It didn’t. But he did think that he could keep doing this. That he would be happy. Maybe with less hugging and general fanfare. Maybe if he did not have to give up his family.

He rode Lampwick into town on the way home, on the off-chance Sora and Pinocchio were still there. Godmother was busy tonight, and Geppetto’s cooking was more of an appealing idea than his own. Especially, he thought, if Sora was there too.

The stage was still up, but then, sometimes the show went on late, and it was easier to leave it there. They wanted to perform so often, it was almost always there. There was a small shape by it – Pinocchio. But usually he dangled his legs, and today, they were still. Usually another shape sat on stage next to him.

Riku’s heart fell.

He ran forwards – no – _no._

Pinocchio looked up at the sound. His hair hung in his eyes, and his skin was white.

“Where’s Sora?” Riku asked.

First, Pinocchio hopped off the stage, closing the gap between them, throwing his arms around Riku’s waist.

Then he started sobbing. “There was a man – after the show – he wanted to see Sora – close up – I said no – I tried to stop him – but he was stronger than me – and – oh, Riku!”

Riku could barely breathe, but his heart was hammering as though he ran a mile. He patted Pinocchio’s shoulders, as they wracked with cries. Pried him away as gently as he could, so that he could kneel to his level.

“It’s alright – it’s not your fault.” It was Riku’s. If he’d been here, he would have been able to stop it. “Can you tell me anything about the man?”

"He - he had a cape on, but he wore an eyepatch."

Riku knew the man in question. He’d always regarded him with a suspicious eye, always asked pointed questions about the cottage and what they did there. Had a pendant round his neck that proclaimed to all he was a fan of the mysterious. Lately, hse'd lurked at the back of most shows, and he felt a fool for not confronting him. Making sure that he stayed away.

"You'll be able to get Sora back, right Riku?"

"Yes." He hoped it wasn't a lie. Now he was afraid, his heart racing as he thought of the man's plans with his friend.

No, Sora was more than that.

He sent Pinocchio home - told him not to dally or talk to anyone. Then turned on his heel, and started through town. There was no time to lose. He remembered taking deliveries around in winter, when it was cold, and some of their regulars were sick. That man - Xigbar, Riku thought - had watched them from his window. In a way that sent chills up his spine, and made him press more closely to Godmother.

Of course he remembered the house. Remembered the wrought iron gate and crooked chimney. Dark against the setting sky.

Riku took a breath. And stepped up to the house. There was no porch light lit, which made it all the darker.

He knocked. What else could he do?

There was the sound of scuffling and a muttered curse. His stomach clenched.

The door opened a crack. The inside seemed dim too, the man's face in shadow. He was not old, but there had always been something haggard and weary about him that made him seem so.

"Ah." Xigbar shouldn't have been smiling. It wasn’t a pleasant smile either. "You're that boy. From the cottage."

"You have something that belongs to a friend of mine.” He sounded more confident than he felt.

One thin eyebrow raised. "Friend?"

"Pinocchio." When Riku didn't recieve a reply, he found himself resorting to, "The boy with the puppet."

That smile widened. His eye looked amber in the evening light, and it glinted like a cat. A cat toying with a mouse.

"I thought you’d come for him, sooner or later," Xigbar said, and Riku's stomach turned over. He did open the door another crack, to reveal a narrow hallway. "I was just taking a look, poppet. There's no need to look so angry."

So Sora was in there. The thought of him - alone, and unable to move in case he gave himself away, spurred Riku to step inside.

"He wasn’t yours to borrow," he said, stopping in front of the man.

The eyebrow inched higher, and the smile inched wider. "Is it yours?"

"He's Pinocchio’s father's."

"Hm." Xigbar stepped down the hallway, pushing the first door open, with his back to it. "Interesting that you call _it_ , him."

Riku hadn't even noticed. He would have been angry at himself for giving that hint away, but he barely heard the man's voice. Because there was a high-backed wooden chair in that room and he recognised the figure sat on it, head lolling to one side. Sora. He’d stayed limp, and that must have been hard.

Again, he moved forward without thinking, managing to say, "I've come to return him."

Xigbar's hand found his chest. Halted him in his tracks, with just the slightest push. Enough to show Riku how strong he was.

"The thing is, I'm not quite done with it." He was watching Riku closely, for the wince he had when Sora was called an 'it.'

Riku stared at him. His chest was hot - as though there was smoke inside him, and yet he could not move. Could not find the words to get by.

At least Xigbar did step aside. The room was full of other trinkets, sat on the mantle, and a large wooden chest in one corner. The curtains were drawn to a slit, but the fireplace was lit. The amber light danced over Sora's skin.

Not skin. Wood.

His heart lurched as he realised just how flammable Sora really was. He wasn't sat like he'd been displayed in the shop, upright, slightly smiling. He was slumped, limbs dangling, face hidden. Like something broken.

"You see," Xigbar continued, crossing to where Sora was sat, just to the side of the fire. "These strings aren't tied to the joints. Not in the right place that would make it dance like it did onstage."

He took one of the strings, trailing on the floor much too close to the grate, and jerked it. Sora's arm flew up with it.

Riku tasted blood. It made him realise that he'd been biting his cheek.

"On that note, there really aren't enough strings to make all of the movements it did." Xigbar played with another, so that Sora's leg was jerked forward too. It made him lean back, revealing his face. Not smiling - not in the way he used to.

Blue eyes glanced at him. Just briefly.

It was enough for Riku to find his tongue again, "stop that!"

Xigbar almost chuckled. He dropped the strings, though, and Sora's arm and leg fell back into place. He slumped sideways - doing a perfect job of appearing like a thing - and Xigbar caught his shoulder, to steady him.

"We both know this is not an ordinary puppet, don't we, poppet?"

Riku's heart raced. "I don’t know what you mean.”

He. Again. And that made the smirk widen into a grin.

"They call you the fairy boy in town. You must know. That everyone suspects you and that woman have some kind of magic." Xigbar looked over him. Riku's cheeks flamed. "It stands to reason that when two more peculiar people move in, and you become close to them, that they must have some link to magic too. This - is my proof." He shook Sora slightly, and it made his head nod.

"What are you going to do?" Riku's throat was dry.

A shrug. "I suspect set up a show of my own. Or perhaps I'll keep it a secret - wouldn't that be something - to have my own living puppet to watch whenever I like?"

"I won't let you." Riku shook his head. No - there was no way he could let that happen. Sora shouldn't be kept by anyone. He should be free to see the world - find what he wanted to do.

"Oh?” Xigbar laughed. Waited just a moment. “Won’t you?”

He had to do this. Riku forced himself to step forward.

Xigbar's fingers found the string on Sora's shoulder, and dangled it close to the fire. He'd only have to lower it in enough for it to catch. Riku could already see the flames spread, like the string of a stick of dynamite, before they reached Sora.

"Don't."

"I don't particularly want to." And yet, Xigbar sounded uncaring. "But perhaps that is the only way of seeing my new toy work."

Sora's shoe twitched. Of course, he could still see and hear. Knew danger was coming.

Riku shook his head again, but felt just as helpless.

"And maybe -" It truly was a cruel grin and a predatory glint in that one amber eye. "It will be more fun."

Riku stepped forward once more - at the exact moment the string slipped through Xigbar's fingers. It fell towards the crackling flames.

Within seconds, it was eaten. Orange and yellow crawled up the string greedily - getting closer and closer to -

Riku's hand shot out. And, without knowing he still remembered how, a flurry of frost came from the end of his fingers. 

The flame was halted in its tracks. What was left of the string hung, frayed and swinging.

For the first time since he’d seen Riku, Xigbar looked shocked. It was clear this had not been part of his plan.

Riku spoke without one, “I'll stay. In his place. I can - I'm a wizard." It was the first time he'd said that. Admitted what he was. "I'll do what you say - go with you - if you give the puppet back to Geppetto."

He did not let himself look at Sora. Only Xigbar's amber eye. He regarded Riku, interested now.

“Why don’t you show me that trick again?” Voice soft.

Bad things could happen if they revealed their magic. Bad things had happened in the past, Godmother had told him. That was why they always had to hide it. But bad things were happening now.

And his magic could stop it.

So he sent another flurry of snowflakes into the air, because Xigbar was still close enough to the fireplace to send an arm or leg into the flames.

He recognised the expression on Xigbar’s face. Greed. He decided to appeal to it – “I can do more than that. I can make flames, and thunder, and –”

“And you’ll do what I say?”

Riku nodded.

“No.”

It was not either of them. But it was a voice Riku knew well.

Sora had straightened on the chair, piercing blue eyes fixed on Riku. Not scared – angry. He said it again, “No, you can’t.”

Xigbar reeled back, skin turning white. “It’s – it really is alive.”

Riku shook his head at Sora, heart stuttering, ready to explain it was better if he went. He did not have a father and little brother who would miss him.

But Sora hopped off the chair, speaking to Xigbar before Riku could begin, “I am alive, and I’ll go with you, as long as you leave Riku and his Godmother be.”

The amber eye glanced between them, as though it could scarce believe its luck. Two instances of magic, offering themselves up.

“ _Sora_.” Riku finally crossed the room, taking the puppet’s hand in his own.

“Please.” Sora looked up at him. If he could cry, Riku was sure there would have been tears in his eyes.

“ _Let me help you.”_

They said it at the same time. And when they did, a sudden silver light burst from the middle of the room. It was blinding – Riku pulled Sora close to him, heard his shoes clack on the floor – Xigbar cried out in shock.

When it dimmed, they found a woman standing in front of the fireplace. She was ethereal – her hair golden, skin porcelain, and eyes bluer than even Sora’s. Riku would have guessed what she was just from that – he didn’t need the shimmering wings on her back.

Sora squeezed Riku’s hand. “The Blue Fairy!”

The one who’d brought Sora to life. Even when Riku had wished for –

“Fairy?” It was with a mixture of fear and greed that Xigbar looked at the woman.

She turned to him, with a kind smile. Her voice sweet, even as she said, “now I think you’ve caused these two dear boys enough trouble.”

The Blue Fairy’s wand tapped the air, sending sapphire sparks showering over the man. Once they landed on him, even as he tried to back away, Xigbar crumbled to the floor, like a folding chair.

Sora twitched in Riku’s arms. His heart was racing on the tip of his tongue.

She gave a merry laugh at the look on their faces. “He is only sleeping. And when he awakes, boys who have magic,” She looked at Riku, and he blushed. “And puppets who talk,” she turned the gaze to Sora, who grinned at her. “Will just be a strange dream. One he won’t be interested in pursuing.”

“Thank you, Blue Fairy,” Sora said.

Riku’s throat was dry, but he nodded to show he was grateful.

“Oh, but that’s not why I came here, Sora,” the Blue Fairy said. “I came here because someone has been truthful, unselfish and brave. And you know what that means, don’t you?”

Sora’s eyes shone. “That means – I can be a real boy?”

Riku froze. Just the possibility left him unable to say anything.

The Blue Fairy nodded, cheeks rosy, and gave another laugh at Sora’s excitement. “Now, hold still.”

She tapped her wand again – on the end of Sora’s nose – and the light returned. Bright and blue around the puppet, so that Riku had to close his eyes. Even then, his lids were lit with white.

He could feel Sora’s hand still – felt the wood soften, and grow warm.

“I’m a real boy!” Sora gasped. “Riku – I’m a real boy!”

He looked. And yes, there was a boy in front of him. His age. Sora. But different. A good different – because he had eyelashes, dimples, and freckles over sun kissed skin. Because he was even more breath taking now.

Not that his look was long. Sora enveloped him in a tight hug, almost knocking him off his feet. He still smelt of wood – the same wood and wax smell as Pinocchio. That was comforting. A way of letting Riku knew that it really was still Sora.

The Blue Fairy was looking at him, and he met her gaze over the puppet – the real boy’s – shoulder.

“My wish –” He tried to say.

“I did not give you what you wished for, Riku,” she explained. “I gave you what you needed.”

What he needed? His heart stuttered, and his mind whirred. Still whirred when the Blue Fairy’s image disappeared, and he took Sora’s hand once more. To lead him home.

*

“Father?” Sora asked, in the doorway. He put a finger to his lips to hush Pinocchio, who’d leapt up at the sight of them. Now, he covered his mouth with his hands, muffling giggles. “Why are you crying?”

“Because, you’ve been kidnapped, Sora.” Geppetto lifted his head from his hands to say it.

Sora raised his eyebrows – he had _eyebrows_ – at Riku, and Pinocchio at his side, hiding smiles. They both failed to contain their chuckles.

Geppetto looked up then, looked again, and finally gave a shout of delight. He ran over, taking Sora’s shoulders, and bringing him into the light, just as he said, “and look – I’m real!”

Pinocchio’s hand tightened on Riku’s so much that it hurt, but he could understand the excitement. He felt it himself, as Geppetto took Sora’s face in his hands, crying with delight, “my boy – my boy! Both my boys are real!”

Of course it caused for a celebration. Of course, Riku leant against the doorframe, as the three rushed around the room to wind everything up. Thinking back to that first night – the first night Sora was alive. He’d been confused, and guilty then, because he had not wished for that. Now, he was fizzing with happiness too. And now he understood.

Geppetto danced with Sora first – until Pinocchio ran up and clamoured for the next one. Sora spun, still light on his feet as a real boy.

His hands landed in Riku’s. His eyes glittered, with a life of their own, not reflecting the candlelight.

He paused, breathless – he had _breath_ – twisting his fingers into Riku’s. “Your hands are cold.”

“No,” Riku said. “You’re warm.”

He was _warm_ – Sora grinned at him, cheeks bright pink of their own accord. Riku pulled him closer, away from Pinocchio and Geppetto.

“I have to tell you something,” he said.

Sora looked up at him, squeezing their fingers together. “What?”

“I –” His heart thudded in his fingertips. Brave – he’d been brave once before that day, so he could be brave again. “I care about you. Very much.”

Sora’s mouth was a perfect ‘oh,’ shape. But then he smiled, again, and pushed himself close to Riku. Eyelashes casting dark shadows over his cheeks.

"But I already knew that," he said.

He was smiling – teasing Riku – because that was what he had always been like, even as he tried to stammer out, "You know that I mean -"

It was such a quick movement. Sora bounced onto his tiptoes, pressing his lips against Riku's for a moment. "I do."

He blinked at him. Then took hold of Sora's waist, and pulled him close. Leant down and kissed him, properly. Like magic. This was like magic – sparks and flames and snow flurrying through him – coming from where his skin met Sora’s. From his hands on Riku’s shoulders.

There was another cry of delight from the room. Pinocchio. Hopping up and down and saying, “I knew it! I knew you loved each other!”

Riku blushed, about to say that love was a very strong word, and he wasn’t sure that – but then Sora laughed. Carefree. And he realised he loved that sound.

Maybe it wasn’t such a strong word, after all.

*

Of course Geppetto gave him The Talk. And it was hard to look sincere and honest, when Sora was pulling faces behind him, and Pinocchio was giggling in the corner. It was easier with Godmother. She hugged him and told him that she was happy for him – so happy. She hugged Sora too, and marvelled over him, now that he was real. He basked in the attention.

They decided to move. Just Sora and Riku. To find what it was they really wanted to do, together. Godmother gifted them her travelling book, so that they could get to Camelot and home easily, because Riku was going to continue his training with Merlin, and Sora still wanted to see his little brother and father. Because Godmother had assured Riku that she could manage with the cottage and gardens, and if she couldn’t, she said with a wink, she would find help.

So they took Lampwick and the carriage, and travelled along the winding road through the hills. The wildflowers had turned to crimson and violets now, as Autumn crept up on them. Their things were loaded in the back, and Sora’s head rested on Riku’s shoulder. His hair tickled his cheek – completely and utterly untameable now. (Yet, Riku wouldn’t have it any other way.) He still tapped his heels together, but they did not make the same hollow ‘thonk’ that they used to.

“I do miss that,” Sora said. “I was quite good at percussion.”

Riku made a noncommittal sound, remembering that there had never been a moment of quiet.

Sora chuckled. He nuzzled his head against Riku’s shoulder, “You found me annoying, didn’t you? Don’t lie, or your nose will grow.”

Riku found himself smiling.

“You were annoying,” he said. And spoke over Sora’s ‘a-ha!’ “Sometimes. Other times you could be – you are – kind and compassionate and – a good friend.”

Sora looked over him, as though it was a joke. When he saw that Riku was in earnest, unable to meet his eye, he kissed his cheek.

“Well, I thought you were much too serious,” Sora said. Leant back, swinging his legs.

Riku nudged him with his shoulder, but he couldn’t deny it.

“But – I’d also seen you smile,” Sora continued. “From the window. And it was a nice smile. I thought if I could get you to smile more, it would make you less serious.”

“And am I?”

“You had reason to be.”

There had been a lot on his shoulders. Secrets and responsibilities. The carriage continued to trundle on, and Riku snaked an arm around Sora’s shoulders.

“You used to come to the shop a lot,” Sora continued. His voice was soft, like someone humming. “Before I came to life.”

“You know why that was.” Riku smiled into brown hair, only keeping one eye on the road.

“I forget.”

“Because –” Riku’s cheeks warmed. “You’re beautiful.”

Sora turned his head, to kiss the back of Riku’s hand. “So are you.”

A thrill of warmth went through Riku. He pressed his mouth to the top of Sora’s head, just for a moment. He couldn’t quite believe they were leaving – that he had found something he was good at, something he might be meant to do, and that he had someone like Sora at his side whilst he did.

“You didn’t wish me alive.” Sora still said it conversationally, but it almost made Riku swerve off the road and into the bracken.

When they’d first met, be probably would have lied.

“No,” he said, now. “But I’m glad I didn’t what I wished for.”

There was no one on the path – they hadn’t seen another carriage in the last hour – so he figured it was safe enough to kiss Sora. To linger, savouring the sigh Sora gave him. The cold of the air on his cheeks compared to the warmth of Sora’s mouth.

His wish truly had been awful. If it had come true, then he still would have been trapped. Trapped with guilt and secrets, and the crushing fear of the future.

Now that was not so scary. He had ideas, and he was excited about being able to help people. Sora had ideas, and would find even more now that he wasn’t a puppet. They would manage. It was the finding, and exploring, that was worth it.

And even if things went wrong, they could always go home. To where family waited.

If his wish had come true, then he would never have met Sora. Would never have fallen in love with him. And that was the worst part – because he wouldn’t even know what he was missing.

Riku had to admit, he was glad that things had changed so very much. 

**Author's Note:**

> (A/N): The wonderful, beautiful art was done by Yetu (Twitter: https://twitter.com/RedBearUniverse?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Eauthor) It's so cute and warm and I love it sm! (This is the link to the piece https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1_dfEx9Zht-BZaF3MskIu--CMh840h5jf because I had to shrink it for it to fit next to the fic and it's!! so!! detailed!!) Go show them some love too!
> 
> Wow! I am so excited to finally post this one, lol. I really enjoyed writing Pinocchio and creating this little au, and of course Sora and Riku are always great to write. It is a bit of a deux ex machina with the Blue Fairy but - that's what she's always used for.  
> Well done to everyone who was a part of the SoRiku Big Bang, as well!! There were so many groups and talented people working on it, so do check out all of the fics and art as they are uploaded!  
> Thanks in advance for all comments/kudos/bookmarks etc etc!!


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